A Royal Romance
by GarvinMark
Summary: The prince needs a wife. He does not want one, but dolefully allows his mother to call in contestants from all over. Then, unexpectedly, he meets the girl of his dreams. They strike up a friendship, and gradually start to fall for each other... :D
1. A matchmaking

**Author Note**: Sorry 'bout not updating my other stories, but I thought too much about the King and Queen and, well... it was too much fun not to :D So I'm going to try my hand at explaining their relationship-and how it all began. Roughly, anyway. I will catch up with the other stuff when college allows, but I'm also very interested in how this will continue. The King and Queen have both become very real to me through writing and thinking about them, and I hope you enjoy reading this! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

It was a pleasant, warm summer afternoon in Corona. The sunlight glinted on the waters of the harbor, and fresh sea breezes filled the sails of merchant vessels and royal ships as they drifted in and out of port. Seagulls flew across a vibrant, cloudless blue sky, their cries disappearing within the echoing tolls of the guardhouse bell. In the city, people passed and chatted—shop owners sold and bartered—animals bleated and clucked as their masters led them to the market. Life was going on, as it always seemed to have done, as usual.

So that made Prince Thomas wonder why his life was not going on as usual.

"Mother, I just don't see the point of-," the tall, twenty-two year-old man protested as he adjusted his collar, "-of inviting every noblewoman in the city. I already told you I'm not eligible."

His mother rolled her eyes from where she sat on the couch, replying, "Dear, you're 'not eligible' when you've found someone. Right now you are what they call a bachelor—a very stubborn, very close-minded young man who has yet to understand the importance of what his mother is trying to do."

Thomas checked his cufflinks, muttering, "What my mother is trying to do is enslave me."

"No—I'm just trying to find you a wife."

"Is there _really_ a difference?" He demanded in frustration, turning around to face her.

She sighed, gazing up at her son. He was taller and thicker than her husband, though he had his broad-shoulders and dark blue eyes. His face was squarish—handsomely so—and his chin and mouth were rimmed with a set of whiskers he had so carefully grown during the winter. His stern, Roman nose was perched over a frown, and his forehead bore that strong crease of thought—in this case, of discontentment—that she had seen on his father so many times. He was almost a physically matured man now. But he was still her son, and he also needed to grow up.

"Tommy, I don't know why you believe you don't have to consider the idea. I'm not forcing you into it, but I want you to think about the possibility." She stood and walked over to him, reaching up to smooth back his brown hair. "After all, dear, you _are_ twenty-two years of age. Most of your friends have already found a wife… but you haven't."

"I don't want one, Mother. I've told you that I am quite fine without."

"I know you have. Just—know I am doing this because I love you and I care about your happiness."

He nodded slowly, murmuring, "Yes, ma'am."

She smiled and patted his cheek as she said, "I'll see you out in the gardens, dear. That's where we'll be meeting them."

"All right, Mother. But if I don't—if I can't find one this time, can we please not do it again?"

"We'll see." His mother left the room, closing the door behind her.

Thomas went over to his wardrobe and rapped his knuckles on the wooden siding.

"All right, Freddy, you can come out now."

There was a rather loud grunt, and then, a few seconds later, a muffled voice said, "Um… the door is stuck, Goliath."

Thomas grinned and yanked open the door to watch his cousin tumble out. Frederick Hadrian III quickly straightened to glare at his chuckling relative. Rubbing his rather long, beaky nose, Frederick muttered, "I see you had fun. Getting all spiffy and proper while I was stuffed in the old clothes closet. I think I tripped on one of those—what do you call them? Those marshmallow-looking things I tried to eat when I was three and Mum nearly throttled me for it."

"Um, they're called _mothballs_ and—if I remember correctly—that was only a few Christmases ago when William made a bet with you."

"Yes, but Mum still choked me for it—kept saying the stupid things were poisonous."

"They are poisonous."

Frederick nodded, "Ah. No wonder she did it then. Anyhoo, why did you stuff me in the closet?"

"Because she'd have you thrown out if I didn't. You know you weren't supposed to be here until next Thursday."

"Well, your lovely Auntie Derma decided that her last, unattached son should go see the pickings. Speaking of—_who_ is going to be out in that garden?"

"You were eavesdropping?"

Frederick looked insulted. He set a hand on his chest, remarking snippily, "I always eavesdrop, Goliath. Can't help it. God gave me big ears for a reason, you know."

Thomas held up a fist, smirking, "Yes, so I can box them when I've found out you've been listening in on private conversations."

"Hey, you're the one who stuffed me in the closet mate—and I can't plug me ears up with mothballs."

His cousin shrugged, "That's true. There're probably not enough in there to get one of your enormous ears blocked, let alone both."

"All right—all right. Stop with the 'pick on Freddy' time. Now wot's really bothering you, Goliath?" Frederick asked, folding his arms and staring up at his cousin.

"Well-," Thomas sat down in a chair set against the wall, sprawling comfortably and wrinkling his clothes, "-Mother's having tons of young, single noblewomen over today so I can 'meet, muse upon, and eventually marry' one of them."

"Hey—your mum says that all the time."

"I know, that's why I put air-quotes around it." He leaned forward, shaking his head as he sighed, "Freddy, I don't want to be married."

"At least your mother hasn't given up on you. My dear mum says she's lost hope. Matter of fact, so have I." Frederick sniffed slightly.

Thomas groaned and waved his hands vaguely, "Oh, you'll find a girl, Freddy—you're looking for her. _Me_… I don't want a girl. I don't want a wife, I don't need a wife—I can rule Corona perfectly fine without one. Women are just—they're just too _difficult_. All of the ladies I know just take and take and never give—never think about giving. What am I saying, they never think at all!"

His cousin frowned, "That's not necessarily true. They think about clothes, and men—hopefully men like me—and cooking, some of them. And that paint stuff they put on their cheeks to make them look like they're blushing all the time. That's odd, you know. But—they… they think. I think…"

"You sound so sure of yourself." Thomas said, smiling.

"Oh, blast you Tom! As if you know any better."  
"Yes, and I don't want to know. I don't want to be married. I don't care, Freddy. I just don't care."

"Too bad about that. We have to go humor your mum. I need to go conquer a fair maiden's heart—or several. And you—you have to follow Auntie Caroline around and mumble pleasantries and try not to scare any of those beauties off."

"Ha ha. Very funny." His cousin commented dryly.

Frederick shook his head, "No, I'm serious. You're a big scary giant, Goliath. Just—just try to smile a bit. Who knows, maybe you'll find someone today."

"Yeah, and maybe, right now, there's a girl who doesn't want to be here as much as I don't want to be here."

* * *

"Catherine, will you please put that book down and get out of the coach?"

"Mother, please—I just have one more chapter-."

"No! We're late enough as it is! Besides, Katie, you are nineteen years old, we're here to see his Highness, and I will _not_ let you walk around with your nose in a book."

Catherine rolled her eyes and continued to read, muttering, "I thought _Lizzie_ was the prospective victim, not me, Mother."

"You're not the vict—I mean—you're just here to keep Lizzie sane and to prevent her from making eyes at that George of Dean."

"But she likes George, Mother. She's going to marry him."

"I know. But we have to keep up an appearance of interest to the crown. Now get out of there!"

Catherine closed her book, set it on the seat, and carefully exited the carriage. Her mother was frowning at her.

"Lizzie's already half-way up the steps and she'll have a panic attack when she realizes we're not with her. Hurry up, dear. And fix your hair while you're at it."

"Yes, Mother."

She hastened up the steps to join her trembling sister, smoothing back her hair and automatically lifting her dress to avoid stepping on its hem. It was a rather hot day, and she hoped they would not have to stay outside for the entire duration of the afternoon. After all, dresses could only be made so comfortable for wearing in warm weather, and no matter how delicate females were supposed to be, sometimes perspiration got the better of them.

Her mother followed behind, considering her daughters. One girl twenty and almost engaged to a Duke's son, while the other simply refused to be interested in men at all. Both were built the same way: not quite petite, slender, with large wide green eyes and long brown hair. The only difference was that Lizzie was nervous and Catherine, composed. Well—there were a slew of other differences as well, but not such as could be seen by anyone other than their mother.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the palace gardens, Thomas dolefully followed his mother around the various rose bushes, flowerbeds, and topiary. A servant passed them, carrying a tray of drinks to refresh the royal guests. The waiters drifted in and out of a virtual sea of pastel-colored dresses. Making up this crowd were daughters talking to their mothers, noblewomen gossiping with their friends, girls of all kinds chatting and singing and giggling. Basically, it seemed that every member of the female sex was here today. And he—the prince of Corona—was doomed to speak to each of them.

At first, the hours of matchmaking had gone well considering his resistance to the notion. He had actually met some kind girls who were rather pretty. But they were the early arrivals. It was the latecomers that he really had to watch out for. They were the ones whose parents—_especially_ their mothers—long nursed a deep-seated desire to have their child sitting next to the king's throne. It was starting to annoy him that all these women seemed to be sizing him up as if he were nothing more than a generous slice of political chocolate cake. Not to mention, the temperature had risen and he was sweating like a hog underneath his finest doublet.

As they passed on to another family, his mother scolded him, "Tommy, stop gasping like that and come meet the Baroness of Sarphona's daughters."

He tugged at his collar, snapping, "Mother, I can hardly breathe! Is all this frippery really practical in such a heat?"

"Probably not but I did warn you to wear your light doublet."

"This _is_ my light doublet!"

She pursed her lips, "Hmmm… we need to have a talk with the royal tailor, then."

The Baroness of Sarphona smiled and hugged his mother, exclaiming how beautiful she looked that afternoon. His mother did the same, commenting on the baroness's new haircut. As they did this, Thomas sensed the eyes of the twin daughters studying him. He bowed to them as customary, and they curtsied back.

"This is my son, Thomas." The queen introduced.

"These are my daughters, Sylvia and Tylvia." The Baroness of Sarphona replied, her face splitting into a proud smirk. "They are both eighteen, very well-bred, and love to attend royal parties. They also enjoy chocolate."

Both girls grinned. Thomas let out a groan—which was cut off by his mother's sharp elbow to his stomach.

"Thomas likes chocolate too."

"Chocolate is a very good thing to build a relationship on."

Thomas's eyes widened. This could be bad.

"Um—I see another friend of ours over there. Sorry, dear Vivian, we've got to scoot. Come along, Tommy." She laid a hand on his arm and hurriedly pulled him away.

"Sorry about Viv, Tom dear. I had no clue she was that interested in a marriage."

"Mother, they are _all_ interested in marriage—that's why they're here for goodness sake."

"That's not the only reason."

He snorted, "Yes, they're also hungry. We should probably start calling the girls inside. They're talking about food and—and it's steaming hot out here."

"I know, dear, I'll get one of the waiters to start dispersing them. Go and cool off somewhere." She squeezed his arm before heading over to speak with a nearby servant.

"Thank you, Mother."

He knew just where to go. He had already discussed the location with Frederick should the opportunity arise. Now it had.

* * *

Thomas rolled his sleeves up and stuck his hands into the cool water of the fountain. He splashed the cold liquid over his face, sighing in relief as his body heat went down several notches. He repeated the action again. And again.

He was going in for a fourth time—most of his top sopping by now—when a familiar voice met his ears.

"You know, you could get an eye infection from that."

"Freddy?" He glanced behind him to see his cousin's pointed face poking out from amongst the leaves of a neatly cut, topiary giraffe.

"'Ello cousin. Enjoying the hunt?"

Thomas shook his head, "Not in a million years. How long have you been hiding in that animal?"

Frederick looked upward thoughtfully, "How long have I been sharing stomach-space with Rufus? Oh, I'd say about since you came down an hour or so ago."

"You can't be comfortable in there."

"Better than your wardrobe, let me tell you. Although-," he disengaged himself noisily from the giraffe, "-leaving Rufus has a bad side-affect."

"Which is?"

For an answer, Frederick pointed at the giraffe, and his cousin saw that it now had a large hole gaping in it. He smirked.

"The royal gardeners are going to hate that. You know how disembowelment disturbs them."

"Yes, but would you believe I actually learned several things while I was in there?"

"What did you learn?" Thomas asked, running his fingers through his wet hair while he took a seat on the edge of the fountain.

Frederick pulled a leaf from behind his ear, informing, "Well, the wives of Count Walter and Count Elliot despise wot Lady Macintosh is doing with her tea parties."

"Oh, we _all_ knew that." Thomas said sarcastically.

"No, there's more. Believe it or not, Lady Macintosh actually remarked that Fanny of Sile—you know, the one with the wart on her—had no brains when she married Sam of Wentworth. Said the poor gal couldn't get anyone else but since your mum is so desperate, she might have had a sporting chance."

"I've seen that wart and no. Besides, Fanny has a high-pitched voice that breaks glass and Sam told me he's starting to reconsider."

Frederick frowned, "Reconsider marriage?"

"Reconsider his decision to use wine glasses for guests. Apparently every time his wife talks she breaks one. Very off-putting." Thomas said, sounding amused.

His cousin narrowed his eyes, "There's no way you knew that on your own—who did you hear it from?"

"My ever-so-kind Ladies Ellen, Isabella, and Felicia."

Frederick smiled, "Knew it. That trio of gossipers walked by talking about Henrietta of Farth. The things they said… but let me _tell_ you about Sylvia—or was it Tylvia? Anyway, I have something of grave importance to say, Tom, and I want you to listen."

The young man was speaking in a serious tone now, and Thomas straightened to attention.

"I." Frederick announced dramatically.

"You." Thomas responded.

"Have fallen in love with Sylvia of Sarphona. Or was it Tylvia? Doesn't really matter I sup—wot? Why are you laughing?"

The prince shook his head, howling with a deep, booming laughter that frightened away several pigeons roosting in Rufus's brother.

Frederick pouted, "Now really, Goliath, I would have thought you'd be a bit more sensitive to your cousin's needs."

"You do you realize that-," he chuckled, "-what you're saying is completely ludicrous?"

"How so?"

"Those poofed-up princesses don't care a bit about anybody but themselves and their cake."

"I like cake." Frederick pointed out defensively.

"I know you do but—hold on. Hold on—someone's coming."

Frederick dove back into Rufus, pulling in the branches to cover himself and spectacularly mangling the side of the giraffe.

Thomas hastily rose to his feet, waiting for whoever was coming around the bend. A second later, a young woman walked by, stopped, and then turned to him.

"Excuse me," she said, smiling at his drooping beard, "but could you point me in the direction of the rest of the ladies?"

"Erm—I think they're beginning to go back inside." Thomas answered, trying to figure out where he had seen the girl before.

She nodded, "Thank you. I was just wandering around and I got lost. You had a smart idea, though."

"Pardon?"

The girl pointed at his dripping front, explaining, "What you did with the fountain—I'm assuming you used the fountain water to cool off?"

"Um, yes." He grinned awkwardly. "Yes I did."

"Good idea. It's the hottest day we've seen in a long time. Thank you again, sir." She curtseyed—quite well, actually—and flashed him another one of those soft smiles again as she departed.

Thomas cocked his head, watching as she left. She still looked familiar and—and different.

"Who's the wayward woman?" Frederick asked, emerging from the giraffe again.

"I don't know. She didn't seem to recognize me but I think I know her from somewhere."

His cousin smirked, "Perhaps from your dreams? Gal looks nice."

"Nice." Thomas muttered distractedly, walking towards the direction the girl had taken.

Frederick trotted beside him, ducking behind every shrub or tree available. Eventually, Thomas spotted Catherine, for it _was_ her, rejoining her mother and sister with another cluster of girls. She had a book in her hand, and immediately looked guilty when her mother began to fuss at her for its existence.

Frederick glanced over the top of the honeysuckle bush, remarking: "Oh look she has a book. Wonder where she kept that… you don't think she could fit that in her bodice, do you?"

Thomas rolled his eyes, reproving, "Freddy, it is no business of ours where she keeps her books. Though—it _is_ an interesting conundrum."

"Why, that's the most flattering thing I've heard you say about any of these damsels." His cousin said, surprised.

"She's not a damsel."

"Well—wot is she then?"

"Different." Thomas answered, marching to where his mother had started to head towards the interesting girl and her family.

* * *

He joined his mother halfway there, stepping easily in beside her. The queen frowned at her son.

"Tommy, why are you all wet?"

"You told me to cool down, so I did. Who—who are they over there?" He indicated the object of their destination.

"That's Lady Marie and her daughters, Elizabeth and Catherine. She's the wife of one of your father's best milk-lords."

"I'm not familiar with that term."

His mother smiled, "Lord Brian owns several pastures and hundreds of cows. He provides a good deal of milk and dairy products for the palace as well as other homes of nobility. I think he and his family have a house in town, actually. Runs the business from the comfort of his home—rather intelligent man. Your father likes him."

"And what of his daughters?" Thomas asked, absently buttoning his sleeves up again.

"He has about nine of them—no sons. Elizabeth is the eldest and Catherine is second eldest. We've had them over here before when you were younger—back when there was a lot of debate going on about milk."

"I _thought_ I recognized her."

"Yes. Wait—which one?"

He smiled, "The one with the book."

"Oh, Catherine."

"Catherine." He repeated.

_Cat_.


	2. A match made

**Author Note**: This will be a different type of story. I haven't really built a story solely on romance, before... but then again-it's also not just about the romance. It's about two people getting to know each other well and growing through that relationship... but it's also about the romance :D Anyhoo, hopefully I can get more written on my other stories as well as this one. I hope you all had a very wonderful Monday and Tuesday-it's midnight now... Thank you for reading, reviewing, waiting, and enjoying! :D Hope you guys like this bit! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

They approached the three women, and his mother immediately took the hands of Lady Marie.

She beamed at her, "Marie, how are you?"

The woman smiled—Thomas noticed that Catherine had gotten her smile from her mother—and exclaimed, "I'm doing wonderfully! How are you, Caroline?"

"Fantastic. Or as much as I can be when I'm surrounded by a hundred of my closest friends and enemies."

Both women giggled at this joke. Thomas frowned, and then looked at the two daughters of Lord Brian. Both of them were very similar in feature, with the elder being slightly taller and paler than the younger. Catherine also held herself differently. She had a certain air of grace and calmness that her sister seemed to lack. She had surreptitiously returned to her book, her green eyes skating across the page as she became absorbed in the author's words once more.

A small grin crept across his face, and then he felt his mother lay her hand on his arm.

"This is my son, Tommy—I mean—Thomas. I think you've seen him before, Marie, but he's grown a bit since then."

"Oh my. Your Highness _has_ grown a great deal." She remarked, gazing up at the tall prince.

"Um, thank you, Madam." Thomas said uncertainly, making a short bow.

Lady Marie tilted her head, intrigued, "You are polite, aren't you? Caroline taught you well, I suppose."

The queen smiled fondly, "Well, Tommy has always been quite respectful in his own right. He's a good boy. He just hasn't fully understood why I had all these girls come here today."

"Oh yes—the girls. I completely forgot. Lizzie, Katie. Come here, dears."

Elizabeth walked forward and curtseyed delicately. Her sister, still reading her book, also curtseyed—though not quite as neatly as she had done the first time. Lady Marie frowned at her daughter.

"Katie, I thought I told you to put away that book."

Catherine sighed and closed the slim volume, muttering, "I can't really put it away right _now_, Mother." She then glanced up at the prince, and her eyes narrowed in recognition.

"You—you're his Highness?"

Thomas smiled and nodded, "Yes, Miss Catherine. I see you made it back to your family."

"Thanks to the help of a kind gentleman, I managed rather well." Catherine replied, smirking slightly.

Both his mother, her mother, and Elizabeth exchanged glances. Finally, the queen said, "Well, I suppose we should all get inside. Tommy, do be a dear and make sure none of the waiters are lingering about."

"But-."

"After you've done that, go change your clothes. You look an awful mess, dear."

Thomas frowned, "Very—very well, Mother."

He bowed again to the ladies and watched, somewhat disappointed, as his mother, the Lady Marie, and her daughters headed towards the waiting doors of the palace. However, he did see with some satisfaction that Catherine had returned to reading her book. He wondered what sort of book it was. He wondered _where_ she had put it.

"So," Frederick strolled carefully up, making sure his aunt was too busy to notice him, "did you find out where she hid it?"

"No—and I don't think I should bother with that anymore."

"Why on earth not?"

Ignoring the question, Thomas turned to march towards the nearest waiter. "Come on. We've got to round up the waiters."

"Goliath, what happened? You're being rather grumpy."

"Nothing." He glared at the waiter, ordering: "Go inside. Gather up the rest of your crew and go inside and serve the ladies."

"Ye—yes sir." The waiter said nervously, skipping away from the stormy blue eyes of his prince.

Frederick glanced at his cousin, "Why, you just frightened that poor fellow. Did the gal have a wart or something?"

"No, Freddy. She's just the younger sister."

"Who is?"

"Cat is! Cat is the younger sister and that means she's only here for moral support for her older sister. Everyone knows the oldest girl has to get married first. She's not—not part of the 'pickings' as you say." Thomas sighed, exasperated.

Frederick squinted up at the sky, remarking, "That's an odd name. Might as well call her 'Kitty-cat'."

"Her name is actually Catherine. But 'Cat' seems to fit her so-." He shrugged.

"Well, so wot if she's not part of the 'pickings'? She's still _here_, isn't she?"

Thomas sighed, "I suppose."

"And anyway, I thought you said you don't want a wife." Frederick pointed out.

"I don't."

"Then why not get spiffed up again, go downstairs, and follow her around until she trips over you?"

"What?"

His cousin raised his hands, replying, "Well I don't know! You're the one who doesn't want a gal and yet seems to be interested in that one. You're confusing me."

"Doesn't take much." Thomas smirked.

Frederick pouted, asking in an injured voice, "Now Goliath, was that really necessary?"

"Sorry, Freddy. I just—I can't think straight in this heat." His eyes wandered over to where the ladies had disappeared into the palace. "I should go get cleaned up. Mother still wants me to meet the daughters of Lady Joanna, Megan, and Patricia."

"And maybe you can play catch-up with Kitty-cat later." Frederick added.

Thomas laughed dryly, "Ha ha. Probably not. The Lady Patricia is one of those vultures I was telling you about. She'll have her daughter follow me all around the palace. She won't retract her talons."

"Well, then _you_ follow Kitty-cat everywhere and annoy Lady P's baby chick. It'll be a right laugh. Anyhoo—time to go make yourself presentable. I'll help."

"I don't think so. Knowing you I'll probably end up looking like an idiot."

"Oh, you don't need _any_ help from me, Goliath." But Frederick grinned, and Thomas knew he was kidding.

"Come on, Freddy. Let's be off."

* * *

"Katie, did you meet him before?" Elizabeth whispered, glancing around at the many clusters of talking ladies.

Catherine shrugged and took a sip of the punch she had been given, "I asked him where the rest of the girls were after I got lost from you and Mother."

Her sister snorted, "You didn't 'get lost', Katie, you purposely slipped away to go read your book in peace. I know you better than that."

"Yes, and you also know I didn't really want to come today. But Mother said it's for appearances and that Daddy will be badgered by the other noblemen if he didn't send _some_ of us over to the palace."

Elizabeth smirked, "Well, _some_ of us managed to meet the prince of Corona—on terms clearly not planned for the day."

Her sister grinned slightly, "It was actually quite funny. The poor man was dunking his head into the fountain to cool off. I thought he was just a well-dressed gardener or something. He looked nothing like a prince."

"But I suppose he's nice-looking enough in his own way. Not like George, of course, but at least he's tall."

"He _is_ quite tall. Anyway, Lizzie, stop making eyes at George every time he comes over here. Just because he offered up his services to be a waiter so he can see you doesn't mean you have to acknowledge him."

Elizabeth frowned and looked over to where her mother and the queen were still conversing avidly. She then let her gaze rove over the crowd of girls to where a particular waiter was lounging against the drinks table. He caught her eye and smiled.

"You're doing it again, Lizzie." Catherine reminded her sister.

"It's hard not to. Do you know I think he looks more handsome in his waiter uniform than he does in anything else?"

"No, I don't know and I don't care. Seriously, you're supposed to be _eligible_."

"Please, Katie, you're far more eligible than I am and you know that. To be perfectly honest, I wonder if Mother just made _me_ come so she has an excuse to get you out and meet people your own age."

Catherine's expression turned to one of indignation, and she objected, "I meet people my own age all the time. Remember at that party we-."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Yes, and you spent the majority of the evening wandering around outside in the gardens all by yourself. We finally had to get one of the guards to find you."

"It was a maze. It's easy to get lost in a maze." She replied dismissively.

"Especially if you're carrying around the map and are purposely avoiding the voices of other people."

"Oh, be quiet, Lizzie. Just drink your punch."

Elizabeth smirked and obeyed, even as her sister glanced around the crowd.

"Looking for someone in particular?"

"Yes, where has Mother gotten off to?"

"She's over there talking to her Majesty. Did you know that Mother and the queen were on such good terms?"

Catherine shrugged, "I think they try to hide it most of the time—but now they can get away with it."

"I wonder what the queen thinks of the rest of the prospects?" Elizabeth muttered thoughtfully.

"Who knows? Anyway, what really matters is what his Highness thinks of them and personally, I don't believe he even wants to be here."

"What makes you say that, Katie?"

She smiled, "Just something I overheard the queen say. Oh, and Lady Darla's daughter was complaining that the prince barely said two words to her until his mother intervened. I heard her chatting with her friends at the punch table."

"I noticed you decided not to stay and chat with them."

"Why should I?"

Elizabeth shrugged, replying casually, "Oh, I don't know, maybe to tell them that you _did_ manage to get more than two words from the prince—and his mother was not around at all."

"Gloating's not polite, Lizzie."

"Then why are you smiling behind your book?"

"Because-," Catherine turned a page, "-I don't like Lady Darla's daughter very much."

* * *

"No—try another one."

Thomas groaned, marching back behind the screen and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Why on earth do I have to have _your_ opinion before I can go out there?"

"Because, Goliath, you have an absolutely terrible sense of fashion." Frederick replied lazily, shifting from where he had sprawled out in a chair, his legs dangling over one armrest while his back pressed against the other.

"I just don't understand-," Thomas grunted from behind the screen, "-why the first outfit I chose seemed to offend you so much."

His cousin said placidly, "It was blue. I don't like the color blue."

"We're surrounded by the _ocean_, for crying out loud! How could you not like blue?"

"Don't know. I say, Tom, did you try that new laced doublet your mother bought you?"

Thomas stuck his head out from the screen, snapping, "No way. That thing looks like a woman's dress turned into a suit."

Frederick sighed despairingly, "I just don't know what you have against laces. They're not all bad."

"There's nothing manly about lace." He muttered firmly, coming out in another tunic—this time one of green.

His cousin straightened, "You know—I actually like that one."

"This was the second one I showed you."

"Really?" He shook his head, "Oh yeah, it is. Change again—I don't like it anymore."

Thomas snarled, "Honestly, Freddy, it doesn't really matter if you like it. Because I want to see that girl again and I am going downstairs now!"

"You might want to put on a pair of pants, then."

He quickly looked down at his bare legs, frowning, "I thought I had…"

"Nope. But you _certainly_ would get all the girls' attentions that way." The other man smirked.

Thomas's face reddened, and, muttering, he went back behind the shade to fetch his trousers. Frederick laughed.

Eventually, when he was fully dressed and his cousin had stopped laughing, the prince of Corona came down the stairs into the reception hall where most of the ladies were gathered. He sent a waiter—George of Dean—into the crowd to find his mother. As the waiter dove in and out of the clusters of women, Thomas searched with his eyes. _He_, however, was not looking for the queen.

He was looking for Catherine.

Finally, he spotted the girl talking quietly to her sister. Both had stepped away from the majority of the crowd and lingered near the windows, gazing down upon the palace grounds. Catherine seemed agitated and her sister—amused. He found himself wanting to know why.

But, as he started to head towards them, a familiar hand was set on his arm and he was yanked away.

"Come, Tommy, you've got to meet Lady Patricia's girl." His mother said, towing him towards the waiting vulture Lady Patricia and her chick.

"But—ah, Mother—I—I'm hungry."

The queen laughed, "Hungry? Don't be absurd, Tommy. We've got too many people to meet for you to be hungry."

"But…" He stared at where Lord Brian's daughters were now lost amidst a landscape of taffeta and silk.

"What's wrong with you, Tommy? You look so distracted."

"I _am_ distracted. Mother, what else do you know about-?"

"Ah, darling Caroline!" Lady Patricia deafeningly greeted, throwing out her arms and laughing.

Both the queen and Thomas jumped at the noise, and the prince accidentally trod on a passing waiter's foot. The waiter then proceeded to drop the tray of drinks in his hand, spilling punch all over the floor. As more waiters hurried forward to clean up the mess, the queen was seized by the arm and pulled forward by an enthusiastic Lady Patricia.

"Hello, Patty." She said, smiling.

Lady Patricia frowned at the pile of waiters behind them, "I say, dear Caroline, where did you ever find such clumsy waiters?"

"I don't know, dear, wherever do you shop?"

The woman's eyes widened, "What?"

The queen laughed and patted her on the hand, "I'm kidding, Patty dear. Now let me introduce you to—Tommy, why are you on the floor?"

Thomas looked up from where he had been helping one of the men regain their balance. He shrugged, "Just helping the waiters?"

"They can stand up on their own, dear. Now come and meet Lady Patricia and her daughter-."

"Patricia." Lady Patricia said, linking arms with a young woman that looked remarkably like herself—short and stick-thin.

The queen gazed at her beaming friend, "You named your daughter 'Patricia'?"

"Yes. It's a family name."

She nodded slowly, "All right. Um, come here, Tommy."

The prince obeyed, even as his eyes wandered over to the windows once more.

"Tommy is a very capable young man. He's just a little confused as to why I wanted him to meet all these lovely young ladies today. But other than that he—Tommy, _what_ are you looking at?"

"Nothing." Thomas replied, hastily turning his face away from Lord Brian's daughters and back to the two Patricias.

Lady Patricia smiled, "Yes, well I'm certain that a _certain_ young lady will explain everything to him. Right, Patricia dear?"

"Yes, Mother." She sounded quite confident.

Thomas winced.

The queen smiled, "Anyway, Patty, would you care to meet Ruth of Chantill? She's a cousin of mine."

"Of course. Have fun, Patricia dear." The lady told her daughter.

Patricia smirked and immediately latched onto Thomas's arm, responding, "I will. I most _definitely_ will."

And so it was, with his mother leaving him defenseless, a chattering Patricia pulled the prince through the crowd of females. She was saying all kinds of words—alarmingly, most of them dealt with marriage—and her tiny arms were vice-like upon his. She also leaned on him, and he nearly tripped once or twice by this extra weight.

* * *

Elizabeth looked up from where she was talking to George.

"Don't worry, Lizzie. Mother's at the other end of the room right now so she won't see you." Catherine muttered as she scribbled on a page of her book with a pencil she had borrowed from a waiter.

"Katie, are you still reading that thing?"

"And adding to it." The girl said.

Elizabeth sighed, "Why don't you go talk to someone?"

"What kind of chaperone would I be if I left you two alone?" She glanced up at George, adding, "Sorry, George, but it's Daddy's policy."

"No harm done." The young man said, grinning slightly.

"If you left us alone, you'd be the best chaperone in the world. Come on, little sister-," Elizabeth set her hands on her sister's shoulders, smiling.

"I'm only one year younger than you." Catherine pointed out.

"Yes, but one year's difference is enough to make me the elder. Anyway, Katie, go mingle." She started to shove her sister forward.

Catherine braced her feet, muttering, "_You_ mingle."

"I _am_ mingling."

"Not with George—go mingle with those other hundred or so ladies."

George frowned, "Um, Lizzie, maybe you shouldn't-."

"Not now, George dear."

"But Lizzie, there seems to be some sort of stir in the crowd-."

"George-," Elizabeth, still pushing her reluctant sister to the mass of girls, turned to glare at her beau, "-be quiet. I'm trying to get Katie to actually meet some people."

"But—all—all right then." George said weakly, watching with trepidation as Elizabeth thrust Catherine into the throng.

The second eldest of Lord Brian's daughters felt herself being suddenly swallowed by a cluster of gabbling girls. She turned around, straining to find a way out. But her efforts were pointless. It was as if her all her senses had been completely shut off—all she could hear were conversations about the waiters, the poor prince, and the food—all she could see were clouds and clouds of pink, purple, blue, yellow, and orange dresses—all she could smell was a fog of perfumes. Then, just for a second, Catherine saw her sister's smug grin. She started forward, but then the daughters of Lady Darla, Joanna, Ellen, and Eloise trotted past and blocked her view.

"Oh, Katie, is that you?"

Josephine smiled, "Are you here to see the prince too?"

Lady Darla's daughter snorted, "Did you notice that Patricia's got her claws in him already?"

"Just wait until the wedding—it will be wonderful!"

"Be quiet, Lucy, you know after Patricia catches her prey she never lets go. There's no use for us to be here."

"Says you. Personally, I'm after that waiter Barney."

Catherine shook her head. She had to get out of here.

"Excuse me." She said, backing away and charging blindly through the crowd.

She had neared the middle when, turning her head to check the side, she suddenly bumped into something rather solid. Well—bounced off something rather solid—to be precise.

Catherine glanced up to see the prince of Corona turning around. He looked rather annoyed and frustrated, and she felt her heart tremble slightly at the stern gaze. But then the strictness was replaced by surprise—and a small grin made its way across the young man's face.

"Hello."

Catherine smiled hesitatingly back, muttering, "Um—sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you, your Highness."

He frowned, "You bumped into me?"

"Well—kind-of."

"Funny. I didn't feel a thing." Thomas's smile widened, "How are you?"

"I'm fine, your Hi-."

"Tom-Tom!" A high-pitched shriek echoed across the room.

"_Oh no_." Thomas groaned, turning to see a rather persistent Patricia making her way towards them, knocking aside several waiters and girls as she went.

Catherine smirked, "Tom-Tom?"

"Don't ask. Just—run."

"Run?"

He nodded, taking her hand and moving through the crowd: "Run."

Catherine found herself being dragged—though he was careful—in and out of clusters of girls by the uneasy prince. The young man's height easily identified him, but he tried his hardest to hide it by stooping down. He was also quite strong. For several seconds, Catherine was not even sure if her feet were touching the floor.

Then they broke through the crowd and sped out into the empty corridor. Or rather—nearly empty.

"I say, that was right fast." Frederick remarked, stepping out from behind a nearby column.

Thomas looked up, "What?"

"Well, you went in there to find the gal and now you come out holding her hand?"

"Holding her—oh." He hastily released Catherine's hand, smiling in nervous apology, "Sorry about that, Miss Catherine."

She shook her head, glad to feel the blood returning to her fingertips again, "It's okay, your Highness."

"Well, I do like you, Kitty-cat." Frederick said, approaching and smiling at the girl.

"Kitty-cat?"

Thomas shook his head and slammed his shoulder into Frederick, sending him staggering away. "He's crazy. Just ignore everything he says."

"Um, okay." Catherine replied, watching as Frederick groaned behind his cousin's back.

"Now, I don't know about you, but I intend to spend the rest of the day avoiding that mess in there." Thomas nodded at the reception hall. "Would you care to join me?"

She narrowed her eyes, smiling as she asked archly, "And just _why_, your Highness, would you ask me that?"

"Because I think that you don't want to be here at least half as much as I don't want to be here." The prince answered simply.

"That matters because…?"

He shrugged, "I have to keep my guests happy. Not to mention, I can't let you go back in there otherwise you might tell my mother where I went."

Catherine frowned in consternation, protesting, "I would never-!"

Thomas grinned, "Good. Want to go see the portraits of my dead relatives?"

"Um…" She glanced over at Frederick.

He gave a twitch of his head, "Don't ask me, Kitty-cat. I think the poor fellow's gone off his rocker."

"Thanks, Freddy, you are _incredibly_ helpful." Thomas said sarcastically.

"Not trying to be. Anyhoo, there are dozens of young ladies wanting a shoulder to cry on now that you've escaped, Goliath. Got to go provide mine." Frederick dusted off his shoulder and bowed to Catherine, "See you, Kitty-cat."

She nodded in confusion, "Yes, I suppose so."

Frederick walked into the reception hall.

"Is he always like that?"

Thomas sighed, "Unfortunately. Anyway, I was being completely serious when I offered to show you the portraits. I know the tours they give of the palace are usually rather boring and, well…"

"Well what?"

He smiled uncomfortably, "My mother will leave me alone if I'm entertaining _at least_ one girl, and most of the other ones scare me. Especially Patricia."

Catherine frowned, "Patricia? I remember her at school. She reads every romance book she can get a hold of and changes her mind twelve times a day on whom she's going to marry. I'm kind of surprised you managed to escape her."

"Well—I made a pretense on going to get something to drink. It worked for about five seconds."

"She doesn't have much patience."

"Nope."

They smiled at each other. Then, realizing he should probably say something, Thomas asked, "So, for my sake as much as your own, would you like to see the portrait hall?"

Catherine shrugged, "If you insist, your Highness."

He shook his head, "I could never insist. I ask."

"Okay. Go ahead and show off your home."

* * *

And that is exactly what he did.

The prince showed her the portraits of his grim, grinning, and sometimes greenish ancestors. He also took her to the royal library, where Theodore the librarian was stamping books. He took her to see the kitchens—and found out that Catherine enjoyed cooking more than she enjoyed reading—and she enjoyed reading a _lot_. Then he brought her down to the music hall, and they talked to some of the bored, palace musicians who were playing cards while waiting for their orchestra leader to arrive. And Thomas led her past the offices of his father's generals and council members—one of which was snoring at his desk when they peeped in. And he escorted her to the lower basement levels of the palace. Their footsteps echoed in the narrow corridors as he showed her the armory and sleeping quarters of the royal guard.

And he found—with each observation, each movement, each time she spoke—that he quite liked this girl. So, as they were both ascending the stairs back to the main floor, Thomas decided to ask her some questions.

"Just out of curiosity," he began, taking the steps two at a time, "why are _you_ here when your sister is the prospect?"

Catherine sighed, "Moral support—or that's what my mother tells me. But I think Lizzie hinted that the real reason we came was so I could find some sort-of life-long friend. After all, it certainly wasn't for you."

Thomas glanced at her, "What?"

"Lizzie's getting married in a month or so."

"She is?"

"Yes, to George of Dean—one of the waiters."

The prince turned around as she climbed up the last of the steps, "Then why on earth are you both here? Mother said she asked for all the eligible ladies. Oh, by the way," he handed Catherine her book, "you dropped your book again."

She had been leaving her book everywhere ever since they left the library. He wondered why she kept forgetting it.

The girl smiled, "Thank you. Anyway, your Highness, the reason Lizzie and I are here is mainly for appearance's sake. It would be impolite to have nine daughters and not send a few of the eligible, appropriately aged girls to meet the prince as he seeks a wife."

"Well, I understand that but—to be honest—I'm not really seeking a wife. My mother is the one who's behind all this." He stopped in the small stairwell, leaning against the wall.

Catherine gave him a sympathetic frown, "I'm sorry. I suppose you're being forced into marriage?"

He rubbed his eyes, muttering, "In a manner of speaking. I mean, I know if I argue enough, eventually Mother will give up. But my parents have no other children to produce heirs. So technically, as a member of Corona's primary royal family, it's my official responsibility to find a wife. I _could_ rule without—I'm perfectly capable. But then, if something happened to me, there would be a power struggle and political unrest. Things get tense when there is no monarch in place on the throne. If the monarch in question never had any legacy—it can only get worse."

"So you are being forced into it. If not by your family, then by the task of ruling itself. I'm sorry about that, your Highness." She genuinely looked it, and he felt gratified by her kindness.

Yet another reason to add to the list of why he liked this girl.

Catherine paused, thinking. "You wouldn't happen to know what time it is, do you?"

Thomas reached into his tunic pocket for his watch, replying, "It couldn't have been more than a few hours. But it does seem awfully quiet out there…"

He glanced at his watch and his eyes widened, "Oops. We'd better make sure your mother's not looking for you—it's about five in the afternoon."

"Five?"

"Yes—I'll take the blame for it. I did insist, after all."

She smiled, walking alongside him as he went back towards the reception hall. "Not insist—you asked."

Thomas grinned slightly. Upon reaching the spacious chamber, they found that the majority of the eligible ladies had returned to their respective homes. A few collections had gathered here or there—usually with a waiter in the midst of them—but most of the more determined females had left. Then, from the corner, Thomas saw his mother rising from the couch with Lady Marie and Elizabeth.

The queen gave her son a severe look as she came nearer, and he hoped that Lady Patricia had not picked on his mother too much. It would be far more painful for him if she had.

However, her face brightened upon seeing Catherine, and she said lightly, "We were wondering where you had gotten off to, Tommy dear."

"I was just showing Miss Catherine around the palace. I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention to the time and I apologize-," he nodded courteously to Lady Marie, "-for the lateness."

The lady shook her head, "It's quite all right, your Highness. But we do have to be going. Katie's father doesn't like it when his dinner is put on hold."

"Yes ma'am. Um, may I see you to your carriage?"

His mother looked at him, her eyebrows rising in question. Thomas ignored her and kept his focus on Lady Marie.

She nodded, "You are quite the gentleman, your Highness. You may."

"Thank you." He bowed.

The coach was waiting for them outside. Clearly, it had been waiting for some time, if the irritation of the driver was any indication.

Thomas waved the footboy off and helped Lady Marie and Elizabeth into the carriage. He turned to receive Catherine's hand, but discovered that she was talking to his mother.

"Thank you for coming, darling." The queen said, smiling. "Be sure to come back.

"Of course, your Majesty. I had a lovely time, thank you for everything." She made a curtsey and turned towards the waiting coach and prince.

"Are you ready? Do you have your book?" He smirked as she took his hand.

"Yes I do, thank you very much."

"Just so you know, I'm really glad Miss Elizabeth came today. Mostly, because you came with her."

Catherine gracefully entered the coach, letting go of his hand as she took her seat. She smiled, "It was very nice to meet you, your Highness. I hope you have a wonderful evening."

"I think I will. Good day. All of you."

Lady Marie stuck her head out so she could see him, and replied back loudly, "Goodbye, dear Prince Thomas!"

"Goodbye." Catherine nodded, smiling as the footboy elbowed his way past the prince and shut the door.

Thomas stepped back, sighing. He turned as the coach rolled off, and saw that his mother had already entered the palace. Then, he felt something hard strike him in the head.

He rubbed his scalp, glancing around in perplexity. What had hit him?

There was a small book lying next to his feet. A very familiar book… how did she manage to leave it there?

Thomas picked the small volume up, noticing how slim it was.

"Maybe Freddy's not far off on where she hid it, after all." He whispered to himself, looking up to watch the carriage disappearing through the palace gates.


	3. Impression

**Author Note**: Sorry for not getting this out sooner :D I've been swamped with homework and so on as well as other stories... :) But hopefully I'll be closing one of those stories before too long :D and then I can focus more on this one :) Anyhoo, I hope you all have been having a good past few weeks and that you enjoy this :D Thank you for waiting, reading, and reviewing! :) you guys are great!

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Thomas stared at the small book in his hands. He had been gazing at it for quite a while now, sitting in a chair by the window of his room, fingering the leathery spine of the volume. The sun had long since set, and the night air drifted in from where he had left the balcony door ajar. It smelled of the ocean—calming, salty, exciting and deep. The candle on his bedside table flickered, and the dim light of his room darkened before snapping back into its original level of brightness. And he still stared at the book in his hands, trying to decide what to do about it.

It was a book of poetry, written by one Leon of Pharx centuries ago. Normally, he would not be surprised to find a girl reading poetry. But this book—this _particular_ book—was one of the hardest texts to understand. Leon of Pharx had been in the middle of a change of monarchy when he had written this. He had been in prison, his eyes had been gouged out, and his son had to write down his ideas as dictated to him. The book was a dense, complicated text—one which he, as crown prince of Corona, had to read. And yet Catherine had read it… and she had _commented_ on it. She had _understood_ it.

"She is far different than any other girl I've ever met." Thomas muttered, flipping through the pages again and seeing snatches of her commentary. She had very good penmanship. Neat, concise, and rather pretty with little loops and tails added to certain letters.

Suddenly, his door opened, and he hastily shoved the book behind his back. His mother, already garbed in her dressing gown, walked into his room and closed the door carefully behind her. She smiled at him, holding up a tray of two small cups.

"Would you like a drink before bed, dear?"

Her son nodded, "Um, yes, Mother. Yes I think coffee would do me well."

The queen walked over to him, snorting, "It's tea, Tommy. Coffee makes you stay up all night."

"But it tastes better." He replied, accepting the cup she held out to him.

"So you and your father say. If only he hadn't corrupted you as a young boy, then you would see sense." She took a seat in the chair across from him, watching her son glaring moodily at the tea in his hands.

It was a few seconds before she spoke again.

"Tommy dear, what is bothering you?"

He shook his head, muttering, "Nothing. I'm perfectly fine."

"Dear, you are a horrible liar. What's wrong? Did all that matchmaking I tried to do today absolutely ruin your sense of self-worth?"

"What? No. No that—that has nothing to do with it." Thomas nervously gulped down his tea, trying to ignore the piercing stare of his mother.

"Then what's the matter, Tommy?"

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes, "I can't quite say."

"Is it about Catherine?" The queen asked, primly crossing her legs in a manner of determination.

Thomas gave a short laugh, "What? You mean Lord Brian's daughter? Why would-?" He stopped, seeing the knowing look on his mother's face. Finally he murmured, "She may have something to do with my, erm, apparent distraction tonight."

She nodded, asking quietly, "Why did you go off with her, Tommy? There was a whole room full of girls—all there to see you—and you decided to skip out on them and spend the day with Catherine. Who, I might add, was never a candidate in the first place."

"But Mother, you didn't—you didn't talk to her! Yes, she's not a prospect. Yes, she talks too much about cooking. Yes, she's the younger sister and _yes_ she is a bit odd. But I think it's for those reasons that I—I find her interesting." He watched as she took a sip of tea, adding, "And I've never found a girl interesting before, Mother."

"'Interesting?' Is that the word they're using these days?"

"What?" Thomas frowned.

"When we were young, your father referred to me as 'pretty' rather than 'interesting'."

He shook his head, waving his hand, "No—no she _is_ pretty but that's not the point. The point, Mother, is that she could be a—uh—a very interesting friend."

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow, "A _friend_? Well, that's not very romantic."

"It's not supposed to be romantic! I mean—it's not like I'm going to marry her!"

"Yet." The queen added, sipping at her tea.

He shot her a glare, replying stiffly, "Mother, please, I am struggling with a problem here and I would like your assistance, not your commentary."

"All right, Tommy. Tell me your problem—but as if you know what it is rather than guessing at it."

Thomas took a deep breath and gazed into his hands, "My problem is that I don't want to get married."

"Yes."

"But I _do_ want to get to know Cat. I want to know her as a friend—possibly as a simple acquaintance if I find her boring after all. And I want to approach it in such a way as to not seem like I'm seeking her hand—because I am _not_ interested in that aspect. I just—I think it would be good for me to have a lady friend who doesn't care that I am an eligible prince. She actually-," he smiled slightly, "-she actually seemed to feel sorry for me when I explained that I'm practically being forced into marriage."

His mother narrowed her eyes, "You're not being forced into it. If you want, we can drop the matter and never speak of it again."

"But I _am_ forced into it because of my position, Mother. I know you and Father just want me to be happy but I'm still a prince who will be king and a king needs heirs. And from a morality standpoint, the only way to get heirs is to be married."

"And Catherine doesn't want that."

Thomas shook his head, "No, she doesn't. And Cat understands—I think she's the only female I've met all day that truly understands where I'm coming from. It's a bit of a… well-," he shrugged, muttering, "-it's a bit of comfort thing to know that someone else understands."

The queen nodded, "Okay. So you want to be friends with someone who understands you?"

"Basically."

She sighed and shifted her cup in her hands, replying, "Well, we are having a party here next week for Mr. Montague's birthday. Lord Brian and his wife will be invited, but I can extend the invitation to their daughters as well. Would you like that?"

"Do you think it will work?" He asked.

"I don't know, dear, but if you're going to get to know the girl you have to be in the same vicinity. That's always the first step." The queen rose to her feet, smiling at her son.

"What's the second?"

She kissed his forehead, whispering, "You'll have to learn that on your own. Goodnight, Tommy."

"Goodnight, Mother." He murmured, watching as she headed back to the door of his room.

But as she set her fingers on the handle, she turned around, "Oh, just—something that I noticed, Tommy. You've shortened her name."

He shrugged, "Well—it sounds like her. It _is_ her."

"I suppose. Just be sure not to address her by that name until you know her quite well. Nicknames are an intimate gesture—especially when exchanged by royalty. Remember who you are and who she is before you speak. And sleep well, Tommy. You've got a lot to think about." His mother departed, leaving him alone to ponder his thoughts in the quietness.

Well—it was quiet for a span of minutes. Then there came a rather desperate yelp from the balcony.

"_Goliath_! I'm hanging on for dear life over here!"

Thomas quickly stood up and hurried to the balcony, glancing around under the starry sky.

"Freddy?"

"Over here!" Frederick grunted, hauling himself halfway over the railing.

His cousin grasped him by his arms and easily pulled him the rest of the way so that he could collapse out on the balcony floor. Thomas gazed at him in the darkness, slightly amazed.

Frederick had been gone for a few hours—he had no idea where. But while he had left clean and unscathed, now his cousin had leaves in his unkempt hair, thorns clinging to his dirt-stained jacket, bruises on his face, and one nasty scrape across his knee as evidenced through the hole in his breeches. He looked a right mess.

Thomas kneeled next to him, "Freddy, what on earth happened to you?"

"You know those gals I was talking about?" Frederick asked, panting. "Tylvia and Sylvia?"

"Yes—what do they have to do with it?"

"_Everything_! The gals jumped me out in the garden—but not for reasons I'd appreciate, mind you. Wot they did was corner me, declare me a common servant boy parading about in gentleman's clothes, and had one of the waiters cuff me!"

Thomas leaned back on his feet, "Wow. They _are_ worse than I thought."

"Those two peaches turned sour, right enough. Thankfully, Rufus had a few friends lying about and I managed to lodge in one of them for a bit." Freddy combed back his hair slightly, his eyes wide. "Then later, I heard Tylvia—or was it Sylvia? Doesn't matter. Anyhoo, I heard her flirting with the waiter—and then-," a wide grin spread across his face, "-and then her mum found her. You _should've_ heard the shrieks of outrage. Made my afternoon, it did."

"But why did it take you so long to get back here?"

Frederick pushed himself up from the floor, grimacing, "Well—that waiter was still lurking about for an hour or so. I wasn't going to show my face again."

Thomas followed his cousin back into his bedroom. Frederick promptly picked up the forgotten cup of tea, sprawled out in Thomas's chair, and downed the remainder of the drink.

"Honestly, Goliath, I've never met a more vicious pair of-." He stopped, moving in his seat. "Wot?" Frederick reached behind his back and pulled out Catherine's book.

"Oh, that's not-." Thomas made a hasty grab for it, but his cousin stuck out a leg and shoved him back.

"Hold on, Goliath. Let me see—let me see who this belongs to…" Frederick, smirking slightly, flipped open the front cover, and his smirk grew wider. "Ah, a Kitty-cat. Meow-," he looked at his cousin, "-_meow_."

"Freddy!" Thomas lunged for the book, and Frederick dodged him. "Please, that is none of your business!"

"None of yours either, cousin!" He laughed, springing up to stand on the back of the chair and holding the book out of reach of Thomas's hands.

"Give it back!"

"Never! I'd rather risk life and limb to hear how you managed to get this treasure! Did you find out where she hid it?"

Thomas glared at his cousin, "No! Now give it over!"

Frederick lightly sides-stepped another attempt, "You'll have to catch me first, Goliath!"

"Freddy, be reasonable!"

"Reasonably curious? I'm already that, Goliath, and more! Why don't you—ah!" Frederick dodged a punch from his cousin by leaping onto the bed. He trotted across the neat quilt, opening the book and reading aloud from it as Thomas continued trying to retrieve it.

"'Mother complains I don't talk to enough people—Lizzie and Frieta are bossy—the sunset looks pretty—history was droll today-'," Frederick stopped, narrowing his eyes at the page. "Wot on earth could she mean by calling _history_ 'droll'?"

Thomas lunged at him, retorting, "That's not what she said—she never said anything like that!"

"Contrary to your belief, Goliath-," Frederick danced away from him, "-she _did_ say that. Along with a-," he squinted again at the book in his hand, "-a lot of funny nonsense about some king on a hill."

His cousin took his momentary distraction to jump forward, grab Frederick about the legs, and send him toppling over onto the carpet. The book slipped out from his grasp, skittering across the floor. Thomas shoved his cousin's head down and quickly snatched the book up into his hands, panting.

"Got it." He said triumphantly, looking down at the other man.

Frederick moaned and rubbed at his neck, "First that idiotic waiter and now you, Goliath? Wot's with gals making sensible blokes into such violent brigands?"

"Brigand?"

"Yes, _brigand_." With a groan—that was probably more exaggerated than necessary—Frederick rose to his feet and took a seat upon the bed. He gestured at his cousin, adding, "But I can't see why you claimed Kitty-cat didn't write that down because she did. Along with that king on a hill twaddle."

Thomas rolled his eyes, "She was commenting on Leon of Pharx's viewpoints about the new monarchy. Didn't you read this in school?"

"Hard to say… I read a load of rubbish in school."

"It's not rubbish, it's important." He replied back defensively.

Frederick nodded and stretched out over the bed, gazing up at the canopy as he remarked: "Sure is. How else are you going to get the know the gal if you don't read her innermost thoughts?"

Thomas shrugged half-heartedly and took his chair again. He moodily stroked the book's cover as his cousin started whistling quietly. After a moment, Thomas muttered, "I really don't know if I should read it, Freddy. I mean—I flipped through it but… I don't think I should do more than that."

"Goliath."

He looked up at him.

Frederick sighed and turned to face his cousin, propping himself up on his elbow. He raised an eyebrow, "Do you really think you would've gotten that book if she didn't _want_ you to read it?"

"Why would she want me to read it?"

"You _are_ dense. Listen to me, Tom. Kitty-cat is obviously just as smart as she is pretty. She must've given the book to you if you have it. Therefore—she wants you to read it because-," he held up the index fingers of both his hands and brought them together, "-she wants you to _see_ that she is just as smart as she is pretty."

"But I know that already." Thomas said.

"Yes—but she doesn't know that you know that." Frederick shrugged, "Or, of course, I could be wrong and the poor gal's frantic and doesn't want you to read the book at all."

* * *

"Do you think he's read it, Lizzie?"

Elizabeth brushed at her hair, gazing into the vanity mirror as she responded, "I don't know. But from what you've said, you certainly dropped it enough times."

"Yes, and he returned it every time. Probably thought I was brainless, leaving it all over the place like that." Catherine sighed, adjusting her feet on the windowsill.

Her sister snorted, "Well, you practically chucked it out the coach window so I'd say he probably got the hint."

"Maybe…"

Elizabeth glanced across the small bedroom room to her sister. Catherine was sitting in the open window with her knees drawn up to her chin, gazing out into the quiet darkness. Her bare feet poked out from underneath the hem of her long nightgown, and her hair hung, long and loose, down her back. Normally at this hour Catherine would be lying in bed, reading. But she had been distracted ever since they prepared for bed, restlessly pacing and jumpy. It was the first time in a long while that Elizabeth had seen her sister's calmness rippled, and she was quite impressed.

"Katie, why are you so worried about it? I thought you left the book there for a reason."

"I did—I just think I might've been too hasty." Catherine turned to her, frowning, "I mean, I barely know him and he _is_ the prince after all."

Elizabeth shrugged, "Prince or not, he spent the day with you and apparently has made an impression where other men have failed. Do you like him?"

"I suppose. Not—not in any romantic sense but he seemed to be a very kind, very interesting gentleman." She took a deep breath of the ocean air, commenting, "He'd make a good friend."

"Friends with royalty? You are moving up the ladder, aren't you?"

"Please, Lizzie. Besides, friendship is probably the last thing on his mind at the moment."

"True. He _was_ looking for a wife." She finished brushing her hair and stood, going over to the wide bed she shared with her sister.

Catherine shook her head, "His mother was. He's not. He told me so."

"He told you so?" Elizabeth got into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and rolling over to look at Catherine.

She nodded, "The poor man's basically forced into marriage due to his position. He's the only prince Corona has and, when he becomes king, he needs an heir."

"You don't have to be married for that."

Catherine smiled, "_He_ has to. He's a good man and he'd never deviate from what's honest and right."

"Hmmm-," Elizabeth pursed her lips, murmuring, "-'good man', 'honest and right', 'very kind, very interesting gentleman'… I think Daddy will like him."

"He probably would. But Lizzie, that doesn't really matter now, does it? What matters now is that I left my book back at the palace and, for all I know, he could be reading my chicken scratch and wondering what kind of maniac I am?"

* * *

"I don't see why you keep agonizing over that book. I mean, Goliath, if you're going to read it—then _read_ it."

Thomas shook his head as he unbuttoned his tunic, muttering, "I just don't think it's proper or decent to read something that's obviously meant to be kept private."

His cousin growled in annoyance, smacking himself in the forehead, "Goliath, the gal threw the stupid thing at you. Aren't you in the least bit curious as to why?"

"No-," the prince tossed his tunic onto the floor and looked at Frederick, "-and I'm going to send the book back to her, first thing in the morning."

"First thing?"

Thomas pulled on a linen shirt, responding: "Yes."

"Well, I suppose it's your choice. But wouldn't you like _me_ to flip through it? I wouldn't scan it deeply and I could find some useful information and-."

"No, Freddy."

Frederick shrugged, "Suit yourself, Goliath."

He got off his cousin's bed and went to go make one of his own out of the sofa. Thomas's personal valet knew about Frederick's existence and had left extra blankets and pillows per request of his prince. Frederick unfolded one of the blankets as Thomas sprawled out on his bed, looking at the small book in his hands.

Struggling to unwrap the blanket from around his arms, Frederick asked, "So I'm assuming that, aside from her tossing that missile of indecision at your skull, you had a good day with Kitty-cat?"

Thomas nodded, "Yeah. Cat is a-," he grinned slightly, "-well, she's different than anyone else I've ever met. I can't quite explain why but… somehow everything she did—though I've seen a hundred other people doing the same thing—seemed fantastic. And the very fact that she understands Leon of Pharx gives proof of a brain behind those gorgeous green eyes of hers."

"So you managed to do the whole 'stare into her eyes' bit already?" His cousin asked as he attempted to disentangle himself from his sheets. For the son of a nobleman, Frederick was having an awful lot of trouble making up his own bed.

The prince shook his head, "Not really. I just noticed that she had a very striking sort-of gaze. Penetrating and yet—not judgmental in the least. It was a very nice gaze. Almost regal."

"Like Auntie Caroline's when she's not glaring me into oblivion?" Frederick asked as, with a yelp, he fell over, wrapped like a mummy in his sheets.

"I guess." Thomas ignored his cousin's muttered complaints as he fought with his bedding. He allowed his thoughts to drift over the day, about everything that had happened. About Catherine, Lord Brian the milk-lord's second daughter. About how much he wanted to see her again.

* * *

"Do you know, Lizzie, I think he actually sniffed me?" Catherine asked, staring up at the ceiling of their bedroom in the darkness.

Elizabeth looked over at her, mumbling sleepily, "What is it this time, Katie?"

"It was really odd—I'm not even sure if that's _exactly_ what he did. But I've come up with no better explanation."

Her sister yawned, "Well, what did he do?"

"We were looking at the portraits of all his ancestors—the prince was making fun of them—and I pointed out they all had blue eyes, like he did. Then, as I gazed up at his father's picture he sort of-," she frowned, "-he's tall, so he sort-of stood behind me and—I think he leaned over slightly and breathed in?"

"Maybe you smelled good, Katie. You usually do." Elizabeth replied in unconcern as she rolled over to go back to sleep.

Catherine sighed, "But I wasn't wearing any perfume… I can't think of what he thought."

"He probably thought you smelled good and was thanking high Heaven that you weren't clogging the atmosphere with 'sweet pink pea' or 'gardenia garden' or whatever they call them these days."

"He _did_ seem to have trouble breathing when a group of girls wandered past us. Though I think that was because they were searching for him and he was trying his hardest to be quiet." She smiled slightly. "For such a big man he seemed rather scared of all those ladies."

Elizabeth moaned, "Katie, as happy as I am that you find the prince so interesting—_please_, will you go to bed?"

"Oh, sorry dear. I'll be quiet."

"Thank goodness."

Catherine listened as her sister's breathing slowed down with the approach of sleep. Her mind went back to all she had told her that night—all about the prince of Corona and whether leaving her book at the palace had been a good idea or not. It was not as if she had written _tons_ of personal information in there. But there was enough to make a difference. Oh, why had she thrown it out the window?

Because she wanted him to take notice.

Because he had _already_ taken notice.

And she had noticed him.

* * *

"So-," Frederick asked, finally settled comfortably on the sofa, "-before we lay down for bed, do you have anything else to say, Goliath?"

"Hmmm?" He was still staring at the book.

"About Kitty-cat? Anything else you want to reveal before it's lost forever in dreams of the night?"

Thomas shrugged, replying doubtfully, "Well, she—she smelled good."

"What? Of perfume or something?"

"No, just—of her. She just smelled good. It's hard to explain…"

"All right, then. And you're still returning that book to her first thing in the morning?" "Yes. First thing." He laid the book on his bedside table.

Frederick nodded and blew out the candle, murmuring, "Sleep tight then, Goliath. I hope you dream of her."

Thomas grunted, "I doubt that's going to happen. I'll probably have nightmares about Patricia rather than anything else. But good night, Freddy."

A loud snore raked through the silence. Frederick had always been able to fall asleep in a matter of seconds. This, of course, left his cousin peace to think.

And he thought pretty much all night.

* * *

Thomas woke up early the next morning. He had not slept well, but that was not surprising. After all, how can you sleep well when a vulture-like Patricia has been chasing you through your dreams every time you closed your eyes? She had been almost like one of the sirens in that old myth.

The prince glanced around, finding that his cousin was still trapped in his blankets on the couch, snoozing away contentedly. He wondered how long Frederick would be able to elude his mother's detection. Thomas gave him another day or two—but so far, somehow his cousin had managed to be surprisingly inconspicuous. Perhaps the young man was changing.

Thomas then saw the book that had struck him in the head yesterday. It still sat, untouched and unbothered by its contents, on his bedside table. Yet somehow, it seemed to demand his attention. It was intense in its call.

"Oh, balderdash." He grumbled, grabbing hold of the novel and heading out onto the balcony.

The early morning darkness was just beginning to break, with an orange blush peeping up from the corners of the world. It was also very quiet, and the ever-present roar of the magnificent sea seemed much louder in this silence. The air tasted of salt and water, and the faint shrieks of the gulls echoed up from the rooftops of Corona's nobility and common folk.

Thomas took a seat in the rocking chair set by the railing. He then opened the persistent book at random and began to read aloud the first thing he saw.

"'The tide is turning, so the sailors say. The days are growing longer, the nights shorter, and the world passes on. And I stand in the midst of a stirring crowd, waiting. Waiting for what? I do not know. But should we ever know? Should we ever attempt to see the end of our own fate? Or does that just make the process more painful?'"

Thomas sighed. Leon of Pharx had always been difficult to understand, even now. Even when he knew what the man was saying, he still felt weary from reading the passage.

But then he turned his attention onto the short sentences penned in beside it, and his heart lifted.

_"The tide turns constantly, Leon. Fate, if there is such a thing, changes all the time. You can't see the end of it, so just live in the present. Strive for a better future."_

She was amazing.

* * *

When Frederick roused himself thirty minutes later, he found his cousin sitting at his desk. He was writing something.

"Morning, Goliath. You okay?"

"Not—not exactly." Thomas responded, crinkling up the paper he had been writing on and tossing it over his shoulder.

His cousin nudged the pile of discarded, crumpled-up parchment on the carpet with his foot. He grimaced, "Wot's wrong?"

"I'm just trying to figure out how to sign this message."

"Message?"

Thomas nodded, muttering, "Yes. The message I'm sending with Cat's book. The post boy leaves within twenty minutes and I still haven't decided on what to do."

Frederick set a hand on the desk, leaning over to read his cousin's writing. "'Miss Catherine, you left this at the palace yesterday. I hope you have not been missing it—and that you are-'," he frowned, "'-_well_?' Wot kind-of letter is that?"

"It's not a letter, Freddy. It's a note. And it's simply to inform her that she left her book and-."

Frederick rolled his eyes, "She's knows _that_ already, Goliath. Forget that part. Just tell her that you liked spending the afternoon with her yesterday and that you hope to see her again soon."

"I can't tell her that."

"Why on earth not? It's the truth, isn't it?"

"Yes but-." Thomas started, only to be interrupted by his cousin crushing up the note and throwing it away. "_Freddy_."

Frederick set a hand on his shoulder, replying calmly, "Goliath, Kitty-cat is a nice gal and from wot you've said neither she nor you are interested in anything aside from a friendship, correct?"

"If even that."

"All right. Just be polite—tell her that you had fun—tell her that you'd like to see her again. Seriously, Goliath, one would think you've never written to a gal before."

Thomas shook his head, sighing, "Honestly, I haven't."

Frederick rubbed his chin, frowning, "Really? Oh dear." He grunted, "Okay, Goliath, here's wot you say—'Dear Miss Catherine, thank you very much for coming to the palace yesterday. I had a good time talking with you and showing you around. It would be a pleasure to see you again. Oh, and by the way, you dropped your book.'"

His cousin grinned, "Freddy, you're brilliant."

"Why thank you, cousin. Oh, and how are you going to sign it?"

"Um… I haven't solved that problem."

"Well-," Frederick yawned, "-I'll be brushing my pearly-white molars if you need me."

Thomas returned to his note, copying down what his cousin had just suggested. Then he paused, staring at the blank space awaiting his signature. What should he sign it as?

"His royal Highness? Prince Thomas? Thomas, Prince of Corona? His Highness Prince Thomas? Your prince? Tommy-," he shook his head, "-no! _Definitely_ not that one. But what else?" He tapped his quill against his mouth, thinking.

Was the term 'friend' too assuming? What if he signed it 'acquaintance' instead? Anything with the word 'dear' in front of it was out of the picture completely… What if he just put his name down, by itself? But then there were so many variations even there.

"Thomas? Tom? Tom son of William? Thomas the son of Will and Caroline? Or maybe I could go ahead and use Patricia's approach—Tom-Tom." He groaned, rubbing his eyes.

"Are you almost done, Goliath?"

"No—and at this point I don't think I'll ever be done."

Frederick tramped back into the room, moving his toothbrush up and down in his mouth. He nodded at him, "Why not?"

"I can't figure out how to sign it." Thomas answered glumly.

"Just put your name—Thomas."

He shrugged uncomfortably, "Isn't that a little too informal?"

"Wot? You want her to call you 'Your most wonderful Liege, Prince Thomas, son of William, King of Corona, and cousin to that dashing Sir Frederick of Livesley?"

"No. I suppose not."

Frederick patted him on the back, "Then just sign it 'Thomas'. She'll understand. She _is_ Kitty-cat, after all."

"You're probably right."

"I'm always right."

Thomas smirked, "What about that time with Tylvia and Sylvia and-."

"Can't hear you, I'm scrubbing me canines!" Frederick barked, hurrying back into the bathroom.

His cousin grinned, whispering as he wrote over the paper, "'Yours most honestly and sincerely, Thomas'."

* * *

"Katie dear, a package for you just came in with the post boy." Her mother walked into the kitchen of their home, rifling through the letters in her hands. She set a small package on the table and sat down on a chair as her daughter continued washing dishes.

Catherine dumped water out of one of the cups, asking, "Do you know who it's from, Mother?"

"It has the royal seal on it."

Catherine nearly dropped the plate in her hand, "What?"

"Well, the sun of Corona is-."

"Mama!" A little girl ran in, her hair flying out behind her, tears streaming down her face.

Lady Marie frowned, "What's wrong, Eleanor?"

"A-allison pulled my b-braids out." The little girl cried miserably.

Just then, Allison also bolted into the kitchen, protesting, "Elly pulled mine out first!"

"D-did not!"

"Did too!"

"Dears, dears-," Lady Marie tried to placate her daughters, "-why don't you both just apologize and I'll get your hair done in a minute."

Catherine hastily wiped her hands on a dishtowel, "I'll take care of Ally's, Mother."

"Thank you, Katie."

Her daughter nodded and brought her younger sister around to tie up her hair. As her fingers moved tresses skillfully into braids, Catherine's eyes slid over to see the small package on the table. It was wrapped in fine, white paper that did, in fact, bear the seal of Corona upon it. There was also an envelope with her name scripted neatly upon the back. It was most certainly a man's handwriting—bold and blocky.

"Katie, you're tugging too hard." Allison pouted.

"Sorry dear. There-," she finished the last braid, "-now you're done."

"Say thank you, Allison." Her mother reminded her.

"Thank you, Katie." She went away with her sister, chattering on as if they were best friends again.

Lady Marie shook her head, "It's amazing how easily they bounce back from fights. I remember you and Lizzie always had trouble with that… Katie?"

Catherine was opening the envelope, her eyes narrowed. Lady Marie smiled.

"Who's it from, dear?"

"The prince," she grinned. "He's returned my book."

Her mother nodded, "A gentleman if ever there was one. Oh, and we've got another letter from the palace as well."

Catherine looked up, watching as her mother opened an official-looking envelope. She read through it carefully, remarking, "Your father and I have been invited to attend the eighty-eighth birthday party of the Duke Charles Montague. And-," her smile widened, "-we are welcome to bring our daughters if we and they should wish."

"They're—they invited us as well as you and Daddy?"

"Apparently," her mother folded the invitation and turned to her daughter, "we made a fairly good impression yesterday."

Catherine set her hand on the package containing her book, tracing the royal crest.

"Apparently so."


	4. Duke Montague's Birthday Ball

**Author Note**: I'm ALIVE! :D sorta... I still have lots of school to do... :( sigh... but, I love writing too much to stop and, I figured Tom and Cat need a bit more added on to their story :D I honestly don't know how long this is going to be, but I have plans... just wondering if I'll ever reach them :D hahaha. Anyhoo, thank you for waiting, reading, reviewing, and faving it! :D I appreciate ya'll very much! Hope you have a fantastic day! :D and maybe by the end of next week I'll have something else up on one of the other stories! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its story, and its characters

* * *

"_Someone's_ spending an unusual amount of time making herself pretty for Duke Montague's birthday ball." Elizabeth declared, walking into her bedroom and smirking at her sister.

Catherine glanced up from where she had been brushing her hair. She sighed and frowned at the mirror, "Maybe I am. But I still can't manage to get my hair looking nice. What did you do, Lizzie?"

Her sister patted the bun gathered up at the nape of her neck, replying, "I got Mother to do it. But really, Katie, you look ten times better with your hair down than with it up."

"That's impossible—we look too much alike for one of us to look better with her hair down than the other one does."

Elizabeth shrugged and came over to run her hands through her sister's hair. "I think it's the way you hold yourself, Katie dear. You've always had better posture. But I can try pulling your hair together in the back. You always look so adorable with a little bun while the rest hangs loose."

"I don't want to look adorable tonight, Lizzie." Catherine muttered as Elizabeth began to draw locks of her hair back.

Her sister nodded, "I know, I know. You just want to look beautiful enough that you render the prince speechless in awe."

"Not that either." Catherine retorted crossly. "I just want to look nice, Lizzie. Nice and proper, because we are going to a fancy party and the royal family will be there."

"Which, incidentally, includes the prince." She replied, rummaging through the small box on the vanity's counter and withdrawing a few pins.

"Oh be quiet, Lizzie—just fix my hair."

"Okay."

Elizabeth pursed her lips, considering how to make her sister 'drop-dead-gorgeous' without letting her know she was. Finally she said casually, sliding pins into the bundle of hair she had gathered up, "You know, I think you would look more 'proper' in that purple dress of yours."

Catherine frowned, "Which one? I have a lot of those."

"The one that really brings out the color of your eyes. Speaking of which—can I do your face paints?"

"Why?" She sounded suspicious. Rightfully so.

"Because in another month or so I won't be around to do this anymore and I think my little sister deserves some attention."

"Lizzie, what are you trying to do?"

Elizabeth shook her head, tightening Catherine's bun, "Nothing, Katie dear. Now hold still or I'll have to redo your hair all over again."

* * *

"Goliath, let me out of this confounded clothes closet!"

Thomas ignored the pounding and complaints issuing from his wardrobe, and continued to adjust his cravat.

"_Goliath_!"

The prince sighed and untied his cravat to start over. "Quiet, Freddy, or Mother will hear you."

"I'll have the whole stupid kingdom hearing me unless you let me out!" Frederick hollered through the keyhole.

"All right—all right. Just hold on for a second." Thomas slung his neck-cloth back onto his bed and, as an afterthought, cast off his waistcoat as well.

Then he went over to his wardrobe and addressed it: "If I let you out of there will you promise to not boss me around as I'm getting dressed?"

There was a slight silence as Frederick thought the proposal over. Thomas yawned.

A moment later, a rather rueful "Yes, Goliath" came from within the piece of furniture. Thomas grinned and unlocked the door, allowing his cousin to tumble out.

Frederick got to his feet and shot an angered glare at the other man. "You could have been a bit more sympathetic, cousin. Don't you know I'm afraid of the dark?"

Thomas snorted and shifted through the clothes in his wardrobe, remarking, "Freddy, if you were afraid of the dark, you would not have been hiding in the dressing room of 'Antonio's Showgirls' two summers ago."

"That was an honest mistake, and you know it." He rejoined heatedly.

"At least I found you before you got into too much trouble. Do you still have that burn mark from that actress's hair-iron?"

Frederick rubbed absently at his lower back, "Matter of fact, I do. Thank you _so_ much for revisiting that painful memory."

Thomas rolled his eyes, "I was only joking, Freddy. Anyway, I thought you said it didn't hurt much?"

"The burning didn't. The shrieks of the actress did, however, leave me deaf for about a week afterward. Every time someone asked me to pass the salt, I'd pass the sugar on accident, and _then_ I got into real trouble." Frederick watched as his cousin selected another waistcoat and pulled it on. He frowned.

"What?" Thomas asked, buttoning up the dark blue vest. "Remember you promised to not boss me around."

"I won't boss you around, just-," Frederick came over to him and tugged his vest down, straightening out the wrinkles. "You need to look smart, Goliath. You can't do that if you look like you just slept in your clothes."

"Oh. Thank you, Freddy."

He flashed him a grin, "You're welcome. Now, about that cravat-."

"Yes?" Thomas turned around from where he had been pulling a white neckerchief from the pile on his bed.

"Can I at least do that for you? I know how you are with those things—last time we went to a party, it took you about five minutes just to tie it correctly."

He nodded, "I suppose so. I'm just-," Thomas shrugged as his cousin pulled the cravat around his neck, "-agitated. And I'm worried. What if she doesn't come?"

"Then you keep chasing her."

"I'm not chasing her, Freddy. I just would like to talk to her once more."

Frederick nodded and finished tightening the knot of his cousin's cravat. He slapped him companionably on the chest, responding, "Either way, you've got to catch up to Kitty-cat if you are going to see her again. How long has it been?"

"Almost a full week."

"And you haven't gotten her out of your head yet?"

Thomas smiled slightly, "She's been the first thing I've thought of upon waking up every morning. That's never happened to me before—not about a girl."

Frederick grinned and retrieved a jacket from the wardrobe, commenting over his shoulder, "Evidently, then, she's special."

"More than I thought she was. And I barely know her yet." He allowed his cousin to help him into his jacket.

Frederick brushed off Thomas's shoulders and adjusted his collar, whispering, "Let's hope tonight provides a bit more reason to learn more then, eh, Goliath?"

"Let us hope—and pray—that it might be the case."

* * *

All of Corona's nobility converged upon the palace for the eighty-eighth birthday party of the honorable Duke Charles Montague. The duke was a well-respected member of the royal court, great half-cousin to the king himself, and one of the richest men in town with no children to follow after him. The more socially-inclined aristocrats paid attention to certain important things like birthday parties when they concerned a man of failing health who had lots of inheritance to give away.

Of course, he would probably bestow that wealth on one of his nephews. But people did not know that, and the party was well-attended.

The royal decorators had lavishly draped the banquet and dancing hall of the palace with buntings and curtains of gold and blue. There was a long buffet table set up alongside a fleet of circular dining tables. The royal chefs and Duke Montague's own cooks and waiters were catering the food. Entertainment consisted of talking with friends and family or dancing to pieces composed by the palace musicians.

The partygoers themselves were a form of entertainment, however. A person with a relatively long attention-span could possibly spend half an hour surveying the crowds of chattering people. There was a virtual rainbow of color provided by the gowns and bustled ball dresses of the ladies, while the men wore suits hued in rose-red, creamy-white, and violet-blue. Hairstyles of all kinds adorned the heads of women everywhere while the white-powdered wigs—though going out of style—still drifted in and out amidst the masses of people. Families were sitting and eating together; children capered among the table and chair legs; business partners discussed the latest entrepreneurship exploits; soldiers hung about in shady corners with young ladies; and the sons and daughters of the nobility wandered aimlessly around the floor, waiting for the music and dancing to start.

The party officially began when Duke Montague blew out his birthday cake candles.

Frederick, using an oversized, feathery tricorne hat to conceal his identity, leaned over to hiss into his cousin's ear.

"I say, did you see that old man's dentures fly out of his mouth when he bedecked that cake with about three gallons of saliva?"

"Yes, I did. But you might want to keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you. Honestly, Freddy, Mother's in hearing range."

"With this pancake of a hat and you think Auntie Caroline's going to spot me?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

Frederick gave him a half-nod, "All right, Goliath, I'll be careful. Anyway, before I go off to woo twelve girls or so, have you seen Kitty-cat yet?"

"Nope." Thomas shook his head stiffly. "Not yet."

"Cheer up, Goliath. I'm sure she's here somewhere. Why don't you ask your mum about her?"

"Because I think my mother knows far too more than I'm really comfortable with her knowing."

"Very well, dear cousin. See you later." Frederick walked off into the midst of the party, accosting a group of young ladies on the way.

Thomas turned his view away from his cousin's movement and back to scanning the party for Catherine. He was not entirely sure if she was coming. After all, her parents had sent back the invitation with merely a polite 'we will be pleased to attend' and that could mean anything. It could just mean her parents—it could mean the Lord Brian, his wife, and Elizabeth. It could mean everyone in the family except for Catherine…

Perhaps he had been an idiot to put so much stock into this night. After all, Thomas thought grimly as he listened to a group of giggling girls trot past, he had only talked to her for a few hours.

For all he knew, she was already attached.

Not that he was interested in such a thing.

"Tommy dear, why don't you go out and look for her?" The queen came over to her son, patting his shoulder.

"I'm afraid I might not find her."

"Well, you'll never know if you don't go out and search for the girl. Go on-," she gently pushed him forward. "Go and see."

"Yes, Mother." Thomas replied obediently, striding into the crowd of people.

He saw several familiar faces during his search. Old school friends waved at him in greeting. Noblemen bowed to him or else respectfully nodded their heads. He saw the faces of young ladies and their mothers whom he had met at the 'pickings' as his cousin had termed the event. Most of the females were demurely fanning themselves, clearly waiting for him to ask for a dance.

Then, in the back of his mind, he realized that the music had started as a slew of violin notes spilled out into the crowded chamber. The soft puffing of piccolos, followed by the flippant notes of clarinets, began to accompany the strings. They seemed frantic in their noise, playing up to a frenzied whine as the dancers whirled faster and faster upon the floor. And then the trumpets began to roar out with loud brassy tones, shattering the strained song of the woodwinds while simultaneously announcing the reentrance of the violins.

Thomas winced at the sound. It was an uncomfortable hum to his ears, making his work more and more difficult to concentrate on. How was he supposed to think with all this blasted music?

Suddenly, a pair of small, determined hands had wrapped themselves around one of his arms and was jerking him to the dance floor. Thomas's eyes widened. He recognized that grip—and mental panic signals began to chime in with the encore of the instruments.

Patricia had discovered his existence, and he was pretty sure she would not let him get away so easily this time around.

* * *

Catherine examined herself in the mirror of the royal washroom. Her sister had committed the utmost atrocity. She looked stunning—nay, more than that—she was absolutely striking.

"I can't believe you did this, Lizzie!" She muttered, quite sure she had never worn so much eye shadow in her entire life.

Elizabeth powdered her nose at the sink beside her, responding: "Well, I'm so _sorry_ that I wanted my little sister to look her best."

"But I'm so—so…"

"Beautiful?" Her sister suggested, smiling widely. "Rapturous? Enchanting?"

Catherine shook her head, mumbling, "Not myself… For goodness sake, I look like one of our old China dolls!"

"Katie, you look amazing. You know you do. Didn't you hear Daddy choke on his coffee when he saw you come down the stairs?"

"Yes, and come to think of it, he was grumbling all the way to the palace as well."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and came around, setting her hands on her sister's shoulders. "That's because he knows what kind of affect you'll have on all those handsome, eligible young men out there. You'll be knocking them down right and left."

"I don't want to knock anyone down."

"Except the prince." She smirked.

Catherine shot her a glare, which Elizabeth proceeded to ignore. She watched as her sister continued to make minute adjustments to her hair, humming softly. Elizabeth had always been good at cosmetics and hairstyling. She possessed that extra sense required to making what was nice into something that dazzled. Catherine, on the other hand, did not seek out that side of life. She knew how to be clean, how to be presentable, but her mind was focused on other matters.

She, as her sister Frieta often remarked, liked to read too much.

Catherine turned her face back to the mirror and frowned, noticing the purple dress she wore. It was an elegant gown her aunt had bought her last summer, but she had worn it only once due to its rather daring neckline.

"I'd forgotten why I never wore this dress." She whispered, touching the lacy lining of the collar—or lack thereof.

Elizabeth frowned, "Whatever do you mean?"

"It's cut far too low."

Her sister snorted, "Oh _Katie_—just because it's a little lower than you're used to wearing…"

"I feel half-naked." Catherine snapped, a faint blush rising to her face.

Elizabeth shook her head, "Don't be so dramatic—it's just an inch deeper and accentuates your curves quite nicely. You look like a real woman, Katie."

"It's not like I wasn't one before."

"Yes, but you've hardly ever let anyone else know."

She groaned, "No wonder you didn't allow me in front of a mirror until we arrived. And I left my shawl in the coach..." She looked at her sister, pleading, "Let me borrow yours."

Elizabeth shook her head and shifted her stole, "No way—I need something to tease George with."

"But I'm not comfortable, Lizzie. I don't think I can go out there."

Her sister sighed and set her hands upon her shoulders again. Elizabeth smiled at her reflection and said, "Katie dear, just be confident, know you look fantastic, and that you are the one thing no man can ever comprehend."

"And what's that?"

"An attractive young lady with a brain." She squeezed her shoulders comfortingly.

Just then, a group of girls came into the washroom. They were all talking animatedly about the party and especially about the young men at the party. Their fancy party dresses—many of them plunging much lower than Catherine's—rustled as they hurried over to the counter.

"Got to look pretty for Jackson."

"Ivan's my target tonight."

"I'm still after that waiter Barney."

"Did you see that Patty has taken hold of the prince again?"

"Poor man—he looked rather frightened."

"Don't know what Patty thinks she's doing. After all, you can't _scare_ a man into marrying you."

"Says you—my aunt did with Uncle Foster."

"Joanna, do you have extra powder?"

"There's some on the counter here—I think it's complimentary."

"Complimentary powder! This place has everything."

Elizabeth smiled at her sister, "Come on, Katie. Let's get out and join the crowd."

Catherine sighed and looked again at her reflection. A small smile came to her face, and she remarked quietly, "You know, it's not that bad, actually."

"Of course it isn't. Do you really think I'd make my little sister look unsightly?"

"No—you would instead make me look like one of those actresses in 'Antonio's Showgirls.'"

Elizabeth laughed as she followed her to the door, "Well, maybe you can join them then if you can't catch the prince."

"Apparently Patricia has already caught him." Catherine muttered.

Elizabeth shook her head, "Oh, pooh on Patricia. The prince knows better than that."

"How do you know?"

"Well, he likes _you_, doesn't he?" She smiled, trotting out into the corridor and towards the banquet hall.

* * *

Thomas leaned against the punch table, breathing hard. He had just managed to escape Patricia by claiming that he had been dying of thirst. And, unlike some excuses he had thought about making, this one was actually true.

He poured himself a cup of punch and drank it, enjoying the refreshing coolness of the liquid as it slid down his throat. It had been stifling in that mob of dancers, whirling around with Patricia leading the way while he tripped over his own feet; getting kicked in the shin by the toe of a fancy boot; and generally having an absolutely miserable time. Not to mention that Patricia had a particular fondness for fast dances—even when they were not meant to be fast.

The determined female had actually knocked over seven pairs of dancers during one of the musicians' slowest ballads, and she had dragged him along for the ride. She had also insisted on dancing… what was it? _Twelve_ dances with him. All of which were unfortunately long and provided ample time for flailing about and listening to Patricia jabber away. He could remember that, at one point, after forcing him through a line of people, Patricia immediately started asking him questions about the matchmaking. How had it been? Did he find anyone? He did remember her, didn't he? Didn't he think that short girls and tall gentlemen go well together? And so on and so forth with the utterly miserable nonsense.

Thomas downed his third glass of punch, wondering that if by drowning himself in the punch bowl he could avoid another dance with Patricia. Just then, a fellow with a floppy, feathery hat leaned up against him.

"Hello, Goliath," Frederick said cheerfully, slapping him affectionately on the back. "Did you see that crazy gal and her poor befuddled escort trampling over the dance floor?"

He nodded, muttering, "That was me."

"Wot?"

"And Patricia."

Frederick narrowed his eyes, "Isn't she daughter of that peaky vulture woman?"

"Yes." Thomas answered, dipping the ladle into the punch bowl again.

"Wot on earth are you doing mucking about on the dance floor with that scavenger of carrion? I thought you wanted to dance with a kitty?"

His cousin sighed, "I did. But Patricia had other plans and besides, I don't think Cat is here tonight."

"'Course she is. She's right over there, isn't she?"

Thomas's head snapped up, and he glanced around, demanding, "What? Where?"

Frederick nodded some ways off to the tables, "Right there—she's being asked to dance by that smarmy Prince Dalen of Salisbury."

"But I—I want to ask her." He mumbled, watching as the beautiful young lady took Dalen's hand and followed him into the milling crowd on the dance floor.

His cousin rolled his eyes, "Then get in there and fight for her!"

"How?"

"Just get Patty to knock 'em over for you. Then somehow knock _her_ over and grab Kitty-cat and run."

Thomas frowned, "You can't knock over a girl."

"She's not a gal, she's a vulture. Dropkick her if you must." Frederick said flippantly.

"_Freddy_."

He shrugged, "Fine then—don't listen to me—just let Dally take the gal off on a romantic dance across the floor and into a blissful future of wedded happiness."

His cousin stared at him, his mouth hanging slightly open as this horrible possibility came to light. Suddenly, however, a more horrible possibility actually occurred when Patricia ran up and seized his hand.

"Come on, Tom-Tom! The next dance is starting!"

"But-." Before he say much more than a yelp, Thomas was jerked away to the dancers weaving about in harmony to the music.

* * *

Catherine did not like Prince Dalen of Salisbury. Not only did he have cold hands and feet that seemed determined to smash hers to bits, but he also did not know when to stop talking about himself. Neither did he understand personal space or natural politeness. And, to top it all off, he smelled strongly of vinegar.

Catherine detested the smell of vinegar.

She turned her head away as the man began to elaborate on his recent hunting achievement, wincing when the heel of his boot stamped upon her toes. By the end of the night she would have to be carried out, her feet would be so damaged.

"My father said it was the finest stag any man had ever shot, Cathy. Absolutely brilliant, he called it. And I had the devil of a time trying to nail the old animal too—nearly lost my left arm in the excitement. Want to see the scar?" He jerked her towards himself, shoving his sleeve up to expose a pale arm for her inspection. "'Course, you can't really see it now because the blasted dim lights they have in this place—but I swear to you, it makes the Salisburian Trench look like a crack in the pavement."

"Really?" Catherine scooted away from him, avoiding being trampled by his feet again.

"Yes indeed. But tell me, Cathy, have you ever seen the Salisburian Trench before?"

"Um-," she felt herself suddenly being dipped backward, supported by the cold hand of Prince Dalen, "-no."

He stared at her seriously, murmuring in a voice far too gruff for her liking, "I could take you if you want."

Catherine was about to respond when she noticed his eyes roving south of her face. What was he-? Oh no…

Then, thank heavens, some flagrant dancer bumped into the odious man, causing him to drop her as he toppled onto the ground. She struck the floor painfully hard, though she was not as bad off as Prince Dalen, who landed face-first upon the marble and then proceeded to burst into tears about his squashed nose.

Nonetheless, the respective yelps and crashes were noticed by many of the surrounding dancers, among them the party guilty of causing the fall: Thomas and Patricia.

The prince glanced back, spotting the young lady on the floor along with her blubbering dance partner.

"Patricia—we need to help."

"What? Come on, Tom-Tom, they can take care of themselves." She scoffed, already leading him away.

He felt his irritation, which had already been rising throughout the night, reach boiling point. "Actually—here-," he released her hand and sent her twirling into the arms of Duke Montague. "I've got to go."

Thomas strode away, pushing through the crowd to reach the fallen couple. Ignoring the sobbing Prince Dalen, he hurried over to Catherine and held out his hand.

"Please, allow me-."

She had a hand gingerly pressed against the back of her head, but gave him the remaining one. Then, when he realized that jerking the poor girl upright would not be sufficient or courteous, Thomas set his other hand on her slender back and carefully lifted her to her feet.

"Are you all right?" He asked, watching as she hissed in pain.

"Not—not really." Catherine stared at the floor, trying to get her eyes to focus again. "I hit my head quite hard."

"Here—let's get you off the dance floor." He led her through the curious mass of dancers, leaving Dalen to be helped up by his schoolfellows.

There were groans and complaints from the prince of Salisbury, but the crowning remark came from one of his friends commenting: "Wow, Dally, you've got a conk the size of a tomato now!"

Thomas took Catherine over to a nearby table, growling at a young lad sitting in the only chair: "Out, Rupert."

"But-."

"Now, Rupert, before I fetch your mother."

With a resentful glare, the lad jumped off the chair and headed over to the dessert table.

Thomas set the girl down, watching her. After a moment he asked quietly, "Do you need me to get the court physician?"

"No—no. I'm fine." She was still holding her head, however.

He nodded, "Yeah, I'll go get him."

"No, I-." Catherine saw his tall form disappearing quickly off in search of the physician.

For a second, all she could do was listen to the whine in her throbbing head mingling with the murmurs of the crowd. She heard the ramblings of the dancers as they skated across the floor, with music playing dreadfully loud in the background. There were also several people still eating, scraping forks over china and commenting on the sogginess of the birthday cake. Gradually, however, all these noises melted into a low hum, and her head no longer hurt so much.

Catherine sighed, staring at her faint reflection in the curve of a nearly empty wine glass. She wondered how stupid she must have looked falling to the floor like that, in the arms of the leering Prince Dalen while being suffocated by his vinegar breath. _Certainly_ not ladylike and certainly not confident nor fantastic.

But then the prince had come, easily helped her up to a table, and gone off to find the court physician. She had barely said two words to him. Not that she really knew _what_ to say, having only spent a few hours with the man last week. And of course, there was the whole history of her returned poetry book standing in the way of conversation. It was a topic that could not be ignored. She had thrown it at him, after all, and he had sent it back. Yet she still did not know what had happened to it while still in his possession, and she wanted to know why she cared so much…

Just then, the prince came back, a wheezing, portly physician in his wake.

The doctor set his hand on the table, gasping, "What on earth did you make me run over here, Tom? I can't look-," he drew another breath, "-after someone if I have no oxygen in my body!"

Thomas, however, had his eyes trained on Catherine's. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She replied quietly, put off by the seriousness of his gaze.

The physician shook his head, huffing, "I'll be the judge of that, young lady. Here-," he moved so that he stood in front of her, "-follow my finger."

She obeyed, watching as the man ran his digit directly within her eyesight. He nodded in satisfaction, asking, "Do I have your permission to check the back of your head, Miss?"

"Um-." She noticed the prince giving her a small nod. "If you feel it is necessary."

The physician smiled, "Don't know if it is, Miss, but it's best just to make sure."

He examined the back of her head, quite gently with warm, practiced hands sure of their purpose. It only took him a few seconds before he stepped away, nodding again. He then proceeded to ask her a few, common knowledge questions, what her name was, and if she was experiencing any forms of nausea. Upon her answering correctly, the physician seemed quite satisfied.

"You'll have a bump there, Miss, make no mistake about that. But a cold pack and a day or two should put you to rights. No concussion, and that's the important thing. Just be careful not to slip on the floors here. Marble, while pretty, can do significant damage to the skull."

"Thank you, sir."

"You are welcome, Miss." He bowed, and then turned to the prince. "Tom, you should take better care of your guests."

"No he-." Catherine started hurriedly—but was interrupted by the prince's smooth assurance of "I'll try to take better care of them in the future, sir."

"You'd better. What your mother would say…" Winking, the physician departed.

Thomas sighed, "Now Mother will scold me for letting you fall."

"No—no. It wasn't your fault."

"Actually-," the prince looked over at the next table. He ordered: "Rupert, out of the chair."

The lad glanced up, halfway through his chocolate éclair, "_Goliath_-."

"Now."

"'Get out of the chair, Rupert.' 'Go away, Rupert.' 'Stop nicking my éclairs, Rupert.' Bla bla bla…" Shaking his head and muttering, the lad obeyed and went off in search of another éclair—probably someone else's.

Thomas drew up the recently vacated seat and set his elbows on the table, "Do you need anything to drink?"

"No thank you."

"Are you sure? I can call Rupert back if you-."

She smiled, "Thank you, your Highness, but I don't think he'd come back even if you did call him."

He shrugged, raising his eyebrows, "You're probably right about that."

"You're not _really_ going to get in trouble for what happened, are you?" Catherine did not want the young man to be scolded for her account. Especially since he had been so kind already.

"Well-," he sighed, "-it actually _was_ my fault, sort-of. See, I was being steered by Patricia."

"Ah."

"And she bumped into Dalen, knocking him to the floor along with yourself."

Catherine nodded, replying, "It still wasn't your fault."

He shook his head, "I should have been able to hold my own against a girl less than half my size. I apologize for it."

"Though the apology is not necessary, I accept." She smiled, and he smiled back.

Then, for a moment, neither one of them knew quite what else to say. It was odd, sitting with the one person you have been thinking about for the past several days, and yet have nothing to say to them. Yet, even as Thomas gazed at her, he felt he could spend quite a lot of time doing just that. She looked beautiful tonight.

Eventually Catherine, unable stand another second of this uncomfortable silence, said, "Thank you for your assistance, your Highness, but I'm quite fine now. You probably have other guests to attend to."

"Other guests?" He frowned, and then realized that he was at a party. Thomas cleared his throat, responding, "Well, they're actually Mr. Montague's guests, not mine."

"Be that as it may, you are still the prince and you have duties to attend to." She reminded him, half-hoping he would leave and half-hoping he would stay.

"You sound like my mother."

Catherine smiled, "I like your mother. She was very kind to invite Lizzie and me along with our parents."

"So you did receive that invitation?" Thomas asked, cocking his head slightly.

"Well, I am here after all."

He shook his head, grinning, "Right. Um—and did your book arrive safely?"

"Yes, thank you for returning it." She smiled.

"And-," his grin broadened, "-I hope there weren't too many dents in it from hitting my head?"

A pink tinge appeared on her cheeks, and Catherine averted her gaze, murmuring, "Yes—you should watch out for books being thrown out of windows. I'm so sorry. I didn't even realize it struck you in the head."

"It's quite all right. Obviously you were just upset that I didn't show you the tennis courts."

She looked quickly at him, laughing hesitantly, "No, I can do quite well without seeing the tennis courts. I'm not much of an athlete by any sense of the word."

"Then what are you?" Thomas asked good-humoredly.

"A—a milk lord's daughter?" The girl answered, not sure what kind of a response he wanted.

He stood up, declaring, "Very well, Miss Catherine, daughter of a milk lord, I have a question for you."

Catherine gazed at him uncertainly, "Yes?"

"I know that you probably think I'm rather rude to ask this given your recent experience with princes but—would you care to dance with me?"

"I would." The words had come out of her mouth before she could stop them, but the expression on the prince's face somehow made it worthwhile. Catherine rose to her feet, glancing to the dance floor.

"Do you promise not to drop me?" She asked suddenly, turning to look at him.

Thomas smiled and held out his arm, "I promise."

Catherine lightly laid her hand upon his offered arm and walked out with the prince of Corona to join in the next dance.

* * *

Over where the royal musicians were gathered, the director shifted through his music. They had been playing all sorts of pieces tonight, ranging from long, quiet waltzes, springy jigs, short interludes of relaxing harmonies, and deep ponderous melodies. He hummed thoughtfully, turning the pages upon his podium. Then his eyes brightened and, snapping his fingers at the servant boy lounging by one of the bass players, he hissed: "Roger."

Roger came over, "Yes sir?"

"Get Ian's fiddle from the music hall."

"But sir-."

"Quick, Roger. And stop feeding my bass player all those marshmallows, you know they make his fingers sticky."

Roger shrugged and hurried off to the music hall as instructed. Ian, who had heard his name called, glanced over at his director.

"What do I need my fiddle for, Leo?" He indicated the mandolin in his arms. "I thought you just wanted me to play this tonight."

"Change of plans. We're going to perform 'St. Anthony's Walk' and 'Carrick By The River's End'. We'll do 'Carrick' first."

Ian frowned, "But those songs are so old no one will remember them. Besides, Carrick's a Midlander's name, is it not?"

"It's an old folk song of the Midlands—beautiful music. It slows and speeds up at just the right moments." Leo sighed happily. "That is what those people need to hear. Music that lives, not just lingers, within a person's heart."

"If you insist, Leo." The strummer shook his head, setting aside his mandolin.

* * *

Meanwhile, upon the dance floor, people were waiting for the next song to start. Thomas craned his neck over the multitude, trying to discover what was happening with the musicians. Beside him, Catherine asked, "What are they doing?"

He shook his head, "I don't know. I think the conductor is waiting for something."

"Hopefully not another request—that last one was far too fast."

Thomas glanced down at her, "I agree. But it _is_ Mr. Montague's party and if he wants fast dances, he can have them."

She frowned, "I thought you said it was Patricia who made the request."

"It was, but you know how she can't say no to an old man on his birthday. Anyway," he smiled, "now you have time to explain to me how you became interested in Leon of Pharx."

"My father gave me the book when I was sixteen. I've been reading it ever since."

He nodded, responding, "Well, yes—but that's not what you would normally find a young lady reading."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but I like Leon of Pharx." She replied smoothly.

Thomas smirked, "And I'm assuming you understood everything you read?"

"Not everything—but I certainly tried to understand it."

"I noticed you made a few notes."

Her eyes narrowed, and Catherine looked up at him sharply, "You read it?"

He shrugged, "I scanned a few pages. But I only read one part very deeply and I agree with what you say. We _should_ strive for a better future."

Catherine turned her face away, muttering, "That was just commentary… and you really shouldn't go about reading other people's books."

"Well, other people shouldn't go about tossing their books at the crown prince."

"_You_ didn't show me the tennis courts." She retorted, glaring at him.

Thomas grinned and leaned down slightly, whispering, "And _you_ said that you didn't care."

She held his gaze, green eyes locked daringly on his blue ones. Generally, it would be considered rude to stare a member of the royal family straight in the eyes. But he had read her book—and, although she had thrown it at him—Catherine still felt his wrong had been the greater of the two. Besides, he had that little cocky smirk on his face…

Just then, the music started up. A fiddle was singing out into the banquet hall, cutting through the mutterings of the crowd. It was a serene, sweet thread of music, weaving its way in and out of the corners of the room to seemingly disappear up into the high ceiling of the chamber. There was a wildness to its piercing fleet of notes, and suddenly another, lower hum began to reverberate underneath the fiddle's song. The bass player was joining in.

Several people among the dancers smiled in recognition, including Catherine. But the majority of the throng frowned in confusion. Thomas was one of them.

"I don't know this song." He muttered, listening as the flutes took up a soft harmony.

Catherine glanced at him, replying, "I do. My mother used to sing it to me all the time when I was younger. It—it's not normally heard in Corona."

Thomas nodded, "I should say so. I know everything our musicians perform and this… this is like nothing I've ever heard."

By this time, people who knew the song had started to dance. Others were hesitatingly following suit. Catherine turned expectantly to the prince.

"Ready, your Highness?"

A faint line of worry crossed his forehead, and he said, "I don't know how to dance to this song."

"Well, lucky for you then, I do. It really isn't that much different from a normal waltz, just-," she took his left hand, "-give me your hand and-," she grabbed his wrist, moving his right hand to the point just below her shoulder, "-set the other here."

"I know how to do that much." Thomas murmured, slightly annoyed.

"Then why didn't you?" Catherine asked, her smile turning into one of mischievousness as she began to lead him in a few, uncomplicated steps.

"Because I didn't—wait." He noticed what she was doing. "Why are you leading?"

"You said you didn't know how to dance to this song."

Thomas shook his head, pointing out: "The man's always supposed to lead."

"Not if he doesn't know where he's going." Catherine argued, waiting for the woodwinds to switch into the second section of the song's opening.

"Well, I'm just saying that it's traditional for-."

"Switch hands." Catherine ordered, dropping his left hand and taking up his right.

Thomas hastily placed his left hand onto her back, remarking, "This is very strange."

"It's how the song goes."

"I don't like it." He decided stubbornly.

"Shame," Catherine sighed. "It's one of my favorite songs." She then looked at him archly, "Do you know how to twirl a girl?"

"Of course I know how to twirl a girl!" Thomas replied, slightly annoyed as he tried to keep his feet in the short, steady tread. "I've been twirling and have been twirled by Patricia all night, if she counts."

"That was mean." She said, smiling despite her words.

The prince grinned, "That was honest."

Catherine rolled her eyes, informing him, "Well in this song-," the fiddle took up its original melody, "-you have to twirl counter-clockwise first."

He groaned, "I think I'm going to get a headache from all this."

"You're not the one being spun, so I highly doubt that. Now-," the fiddle player started into a new deviation of music, "-twirl me."

He twirled her. She made quite a pretty twirl, smooth, graceful, and rather tidy. He actually felt excited upon catching her, and, for the first time that night, his dance partner did not knock the wind out of him upon being caught.

Catherine smiled and complimented, "Well done, your Highness."

"I have an excellent teacher." He replied, as, with a swift action and no warning, she made him switch hands again. However, Thomas was ready to adjust. Then, with a firm but clear stride of his fancy dress boot, _he_ began to lead.

Catherine allowed him to do so, curious if he could handle the unfamiliar music. She quickly, and quite happily, received her answer throughout the rest of the dance.

The young man was powerful in his movements, but not domineering. He danced with a certain kind of respectful dignity, evidence of all the dancing lessons he had been taking since he had turned eight. He was confident, he was reassuringly composed, and his hands were gentle and warm. And, best of all, his eyes were focused directly on her face and not a centimeter below.

She was somewhat disappointed when the dance ended.

Thomas, on the other hand, had a wide grin on his face. He asked jokingly: "Did I pass my examination, Miss Catherine?"

"Yes. You proved yourself very capable." Catherine remarked, hearing the fiddle as it picked up again, this time in a faster air with the shrill whistles of a fife as an accompaniment.

"So does that mean you wouldn't mind to join me for the next one? I think it's another one of those songs I don't know."

"I'm not sure I've heard this one before." Catherine admitted.

"Then I suppose we can learn together. But-," he took her hand again, "-should a mishap occur, feel completely free to blame it on me."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because no one will make fun of the prince. Being royalty _does_ have its perks."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that _no one_ would make fun of the prince." Catherine said, smirking slightly.

He shrugged, "I suppose that is a bit _too_ optimistic. After all, a few days ago I would have said that no one would throw books at me, and that's changed."

"Ha ha, very funny." She replied sarcastically.

Thomas grinned.


	5. Messages and potatoes

**Author Note**: OKAY... I promise the NEXT one will be about the Uncles... seriously... I promise... oh, who am I kidding, don't put too much stock into it :D but in other news... GUESS WHO JUST FINISHED HER FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE? :D I did! :D haha :) and that means I have an entire summer to work on writing fanfics and stories and so on :) and with a bit of hard work and God's blessing MAYBE I'll be able to close off one story and maybe start another :) Anyhoo, love you guys tons, thanks for sticking with this one and being patient and waiting :D and for faving, reading, reviewing, and otherwise being such nice peoples :D Hope you enjoy this one :D Tom and Cat are proving to be quite a blast to dream stuff up about :)

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

"So, let me get this straight-," Frederick began, bouncing a tennis ball on the neck of his racket, "-you think your father wants you to do military training?"

Thomas shook his head, correcting, "I _know_ my father wants me to do military training. It's what all princes of Corona have done for centuries before taking the throne. I'm supposed to go through a few months of training right before Father abdicates and then I become king. It's tradition."

"Tradition." Frederick snorted, tossing the ball into the air and whacking it over the net that spanned the tennis court. "Why do you even follow it?"

"Because certain customs-," his cousin jumped up, easily striking the ball back, "-have to be respected."

"And military training is one of them?" Frederick laughing as he ran forward to hit the ball.

"Yes, and-," Thomas swung his powerful arm up to return the volley, "-it is also traditional for the prince to bring a friend along."

"Don't know where you're going to find a poor sucker to go with you, Goliath. Boot-camp is awful, from what I've heard."

"Well, now you can see for yourself if it's true, Freddy."

"_Wot_?!" Frederick stopped in mid-leap, missing the ball completely as it sailed over his head and landed behind him.

"Ha! That makes me the winner!" Thomas declared, laughing as his cousin growled in frustration and retrieved the ball.

The prince walked over to the net and rested his arms upon its top, smirking as Frederick glared at him.

"You do know you are my best friend, Freddy."

"Yes, Goliath, I do know that. But I'm afraid I'm not boot-camp material. I mean-," he gestured at his arm, "-do you see anything impressive about this noodle of a limb?"

His cousin grinned, replying, "Apparently you thought that the girls at Mr. Montague's party did, since you kept flexing your muscles for their enjoyment."

Frederick rolled his eyes, "It was meant to be a joke. Honestly, Goliath, sometimes you take things so seriously."

"I haven't taken anything seriously for the past two weeks. I don't remember when I've had this much time to goof off." He turned his head upward, feeling the warm, early afternoon sunshine on his face even as a cool sea breeze rustled through his hair. It felt brilliant.

"Thomas! Thomas?!"

"Father?"

"Uncle Will?"

"Frederick?"

The two young men watched as the king of Corona strode into their midst. He had a bundle of papers underneath one arm and a cup of coffee in the other, despite it being a rather warm day. The king looked much like his son, with the exception of his grey hair and being slightly shorter in stature. He also had the blue eyes that were so ever-present in Corona's royal line. And now both of them were fixed on Thomas.

"Thomas, Frederick." The king greeted, frowning at them. "I see you are loafing around as usual."

His son nodded, murmuring, "Hello, Father."

"Well how are you, Uncle Will?" Frederick exclaimed, coming over to pound his uncle cheerfully on the back.

The king's coffee spilled out from his mug and onto his shoes. He smiled tightly at his nephew, "Fine, thank you Frederick. Thomas."

"Yes sir?"

"I have work for you to do. Come over here."

Warily, Thomas obeyed and walked over to where his father was wiping his feet on the grass to get the coffee off his shoes.

"Frederick, hold this and don't spill." The king handed his nephew the mug of coffee before turning to look up at his son.

"Thomas, I need you to go hop on your horse, ride down to the addresses listed here, and hand out these reports to the nobleman of the house."

"When?"

He shoved the papers in his direction, answering, "Right now, actually."

Thomas gazed at the reports, "Can't you just get a messenger to do it?"

"I _could_. But, you are a strong young man and, further more, you're the prince."

"But wouldn't a messenger be able to find the houses more easily? Besides, I'm kind-of busy…"

The king stared at him, demanding, "Doing what?"

"Um…" He glanced over at the tennis court.

His father rolled his eyes and gave him the reports, retorting: "No. Thomas, you have a job to do and you've been ignoring it for two weeks. This is a relatively simple task—just ride down to the city, deliver the reports, be polite and bid the men a good day. It's not hard."

"But—but-," he sighed. "Yes, Father."

"Uncle Will, want to play tennis?" Frederick asked, expertly juggling three tennis balls.

His uncle grinned, "You know what, Frederick? I think I will."

"But Father-." Thomas started, watching his cousin trotting out to the court again.

The king waved his hand distractedly at his son, calling over his shoulder, "Get to work, Thomas, or it will be stifling by the time you get downtown!"

* * *

So it was that the prince of Corona changed into his riding leathers, placed the reports in his saddlebag, and went down to the city. The warmth of the day had him sweating within half an hour, although his discomfort was alleviated some by the wind blowing in off the ocean. He also had to circumnavigate several traffic jams in the form of an overturn cabbage cart, a confused flock of sheep without a shepherd, and an argument involving two very angry merchants. This, added to the work he had been commanded to do as well as the hotness of the sun, made him rather irritable.

In fact, he was so irritable that he was curt with many of his father's noblemen. Not that they really cared much. They did not even recognize their prince without his crown, and assumed him instead to be a disgruntled messenger. Although Thomas had to reveal his identity once a servant boy tried to tip him as customary in his master's house. He was patiently explaining whom he was, refusing the money, when a piercing shriek hit his ears.

"Tom-Tom! Yoohoo! TOM-TOM!"

Thomas glared at the servant boy, determinedly not looking around. Knowing very well the answer to his question, he nonetheless asked, "Who is that?"

"Um-," the lad glanced past his prince. He grinned, replying, "A rather loud girl riding in a carriage, sir."

"Is the carriage leaving?"

"It—it might be turning around, actually."

"Okay, here-," Thomas handed the boy the money, "-I've got to go."

"But sir-."

"And if she asks where I went, you'd better not tell her or I'll have you thrown in the dungeons."

"Y-yes sir!" The boy squeaked, trembling at the fierceness of his gaze.

Thomas hastily strode over to his horse, clambered upon it, and spurred the animal into a gallop. They clattered out into the street, taking a left turn down an alleyway he knew that no coach could enter. His horse's hooves pounded upon the pavement, and Thomas leaned down, applying accurate pressure when needed to urge the creature to go faster. He wanted to get away from Patricia as soon as possible.

The narrow passage between the buildings was empty, so he made good time, coming out into the upper middle-class, quieter neighborhoods of the city. Away from the main thoroughfares leading to the palace, this part of the capital held very little in the way of interest aside from houses. All the shops were closer to the city gates, along with the homes of the common folk. The warehouses were on the quay itself, and very few wagons passed along these quiet streets.

He slowed his horse into a walk, glancing around at the surrounding houses. It was a neighborhood of the well-to-do, with neat lawns and pretty homes, but not too well-to-do. Just—he supposed the word was moderately wealthy—but there seemed to be humility in the lack of the enormous mansions that surrounded the streets near the palace. Instead, the residences here were large, but not imperious. They actually had a lived-in look that most of the homes of his father's noblemen never did show. It was more honest, somehow.

"All right," Thomas muttered to himself, flipping open the saddlebag and pulling out the last of the reports. "Nearly three hours later and you finally finish. How's that for a waste of an afternoon, Tom? Now… where is the next house?"

He read the address, glanced around at the street signs, and turned his horse down another road. Upon reaching his destination, Thomas leaned back in his saddle to look up at the house.

It was a fairly large building, recently painted and well-kept. A line of five, windowed dormers spanned the shingled roof of the house, while a few more windows—curtains drawn across them—remained on the lower levels. The lawn looked as if it had just been neatly cut, with carefully attended bushes ringing the pathway to the front door.

Thomas jumped off his horse, attaching the animal's reins to the cast-iron fence that rimmed the garden. He patted its flank, remarking, "Nice place."

His horse snorted.

The prince grinned, "All right, I'll just go give whoever answers the door the report, say goodbye, and we'll be back on our way home."

Thomas walked across the sidewalk and through the swinging gate leading into the yard. He gazed up at the house again, spying the half-finished bird's nest sitting beneath the eaves. A street sparrow was perched on the nest's edge, adding another twig.

He smiled and ascended the porch steps. There was a small bell hanging beside the door, but he ignored it, reaching out to rap his knuckles loudly against the wood.

* * *

Catherine, sitting in the kitchen peeling potatoes, dropped her knife. Who on earth could be knocking so loudly?

She bent down to retrieve her knife and went over to the sink to wash it, calling, "Allison, go answer the door!"

"I don't want to!" Came a cry from upstairs.

Catherine groaned, pressing her forehead against the window set above the sink. She closed her eyes, asking, "Why on earth not?"

"I'm too scared!"

Her sister sighed and turned around to see the pile of potatoes she still had to peel. Selecting one from the pile, Catherine trotted out of the kitchen and into the hallway, her bare feet making soft sounds upon the carpet. As she walked, she began to peel the potato in her hands, slipping the peeling into her apron pocket.

At that moment, the door was knocked upon again. Whoever was pounding seemed determined to break it down.

"Parents leave with Lizzie, you're left in charge, and then some madman tries to level the front door. Brilliant, Katie, just brilliant." Murmuring sarcastically, she came over to the door and unlocked it.

The knocking stopped.

She opened the door, leaning against the doorpost. "Yes, may I help y-?" Catherine stopped speaking, staring up at the broad shoulders of a rather tall gentleman.

The gentleman turned around, his spurs clinking against the porch, and with a start she realized it was the prince.

"Your—your Highness?"

Thomas frowned, "Cat?"

She narrowed her eyes in confusion, and he quickly said, "Um, I mean—Miss Catherine? What are you doing here?"

"Well, I—I live here." She smiled uncertainly.

"Really?"

"Yes, I've lived here for several years. Can I help you, your Highness?"

"Oh—I'm just-," he glanced at the report in his hand, "-delivering reports for my father. I must have read the address wrong… 202 Charleston St.?" He looked up.

Catherine shook her head, "No, that—that's this address."

He turned back to the report, laughing shortly, "Oh—I see your father's name right here. Lord Brian. Yes."

She nodded, "That's Daddy."

"Right. Uh-," he cleared his throat, "-is your father at home?"

"No. He and my mother and Lizzie have left for a tea with George and his parents in Dean."

A faint crease ran across his forehead, "Duke Johnson?"

"That's his father's name, yes."

"Good. Good." Thomas stood there for a moment, allowing an awkward silence to fall between them.

Catherine gazed at him, waiting for him to speak again. He made a rather cutting figure, standing there in his handsome tailcoat, breeches and knee-high riding boots. She noticed, however, that his collar was left unbuttoned and his cravat hung, untied, around his neck. Clearly the temperature had been getting to him. Why—the poor man was actually sweating!

Eventually, upon deciding that the prince was not going to say anything, Catherine nodded to the report. "You know, I can take that in and set it on his desk, if you'd like."

"Yes—um. If you don't mind."

"Of course not. Hold this, please." She placed the potato into his hand and took the report, disappearing into the house.

Thomas stared at the potato he had just been given. What on earth did she expect him to do with this?

He glanced around before stooping to pull out the short jack knife from its sheath in his boot. Flipping the blade open, Thomas began to slowly carve the peel off the potato. Curving coils of potato skin dropped onto the steps as he worked.

Curiously, Thomas glanced through the half-open door of the house. He saw a darkened hallway, with many different kinds of pictures hanging from the walls. There were tapestries, watercolors, professionally done paintings, and several other forms of artwork. Then, as he leaned slightly into the hallway, his ears picked up some conversation going on to his right. Immediately, he recognized Catherine's voice. Then came the mumbled answer of a little girl. Still peeling the potato, Thomas listened hard in order to hear their words.

"Katie, my dolly's been ripped."

Catherine's response was distracted, "I'm sorry dear. I'll fix her later this afternoon."

"Promise?" The little girl pleaded.

Catherine's voice softened slightly, "Of course, Georgiana. I'll even make another dress for her. What color would you like?"

"Pink!"

"Pink it is then."

Thomas rested back on his heels, a faint smile crossing his face. He had seen other noblewomen with their younger sisters before—but it had always been at parties and none of those girls seemed too interested in their sisters' wellbeing. Catherine, on the other hand, had disproved his experience completely. It was wonderfully amazing.

He continued to peel the potato, smiling, and quite unaware that the neighbors next door were watching him.

"I say, is that the prince of Corona peeling a potato on Lord Brian's front porch?" Edith Marigold asked of her elder sister, Edna Marigold.

Edna beamed, exclaiming, "Why, yes it is! What on earth is he doing that for?"

"I have no idea. The man doesn't know how to peel for his life, though. Look how he's mangling that vegetable."

Edna frowned, "A potato's not a vegetable. It's a starch."

"'Course it's a vegetable." Her sister replied dismissively.

"Nope. It's a starch. Vegetables are carrots."

"Well then, what is a _starch_?" Edith demanded, annoyed.

"A potato."

Catherine placed the report on her father's desk and, leaving his office, swiftly headed into the kitchen. She grabbed a glass and filled it with ice-water, taking time only to set her knife down before hurrying back into the hallway.

The prince was still waiting by the door, his back to the house, his head bowed.

"Your Highness? I thought you might want something to-." She paused, gazing down at the potato peelings littering the porch.

Thomas looked back around, folding up his knife and turning the completely peeled potato about in his hand. He grinned, "Yes, Miss Catherine?"

"I—I brought you something to drink and-," she spotted the potato in his hand. "Did—did you just _peel_ that?"

"Yes I did. You are quite welcome." Thomas said, rather pleased with his potato.

"For what? Slaughtering my potato?" Catherine shook her head, taking the potato from him and thrusting the glass of water into his hand.

"I didn't-."

"You left half of it on the porch." She pointed at the pile of potato skins—really, they were chunks of potato—strewn across the floorboards.

Thomas glanced down and then back up, replying abruptly: "That was there when I arrived."

Catherine smiled, laughing, "Oh really?"

"Yes. Some fellow was given a potato and had nothing to do with himself."

"Poor man." The girl smirked, rolling her eyes.

"I agree." Thomas took a gulp of water, swishing the ice around in his mouth. Swallowing, he asked, "Just—out of curiosity—what do you plan to do with that?"

"Bury it in the back garden, probably."

"I suppose I owe you another potato, then." The prince muttered apologetically.

Catherine examined the unfortunate starch, "Yes, well, I don't know where you're going to find another potato as amazing as this one was."

"It's just a potato."

"I know." She shook her head, cradling the ruined potato, whispering: "Poor little potato—never living up to its expectations…"

"Of what? Being boiled and mashed?" Thomas asked, raising his eyebrows.

Catherine nodded seriously, looking up at him, "Don't you know that's what all potatoes want?"

"I wasn't aware potatoes wanted anything."

"Well, now you know." She smiled.

"Yes, I suppose. Um, so how are you and your family? I didn't get to ask before you left me alone with the potato."

Catherine sighed, "Yes, and you murdered him horrifically while I was gone. But I and my family are quite fine, thank you."

"You—you threw a book at my head." He said defensively, unaware that she had answered his question.

"So you got your revenge by obliterating my potato?" She laughed.

"Yes I did, and now we are even."

"The contest is at a draw?"

"Until you hand me a carrot. After that, I can't promise anything." Thomas smiled.

"Well, then I'll be sure not to trust you with produce from now on."

Catherine grinned, glancing over his shoulder to the sky beyond. There was a faint orange glow starting up at the edges. Afternoon was passing into evening. Her parents would be on their way back home now, along with a hopefully-by-now engaged Elizabeth.

She nodded to the sky, "It's getting late, your Highness. You should probably be getting back to the palace."

Thomas shrugged, "I don't have a set time I need to be back."

"Yes, but _I_ have to finish making dinner and as much as I enjoy discussing the merits of potatoes with you, I have work to attend to. As no doubt-," she smiled mischievously at him, "-you do as well."

"This _is_ the first bit of work I've done in about two weeks." He downed the last of his water, feeling slightly regretful about leaving.

"Then you probably have a lot of catching up to do."

He groaned, "Most likely."

"And anyway-," Catherine accepted the empty glass, "-my parents and Lizzie should be home soon. I can't be standing at the door talking to strange men when they arrive."

"No, I should think not. Please give them my regards, however. And make sure your father sees that report."

"I will." She watched as he began to descend the steps, still looking at her.

Then he spoke again: "Oh, and you can tell Georgiana that I think pink is a lovely color for a doll's dress."

Catherine tilted her head, "You heard that?"

He nodded, "Yes I did. You can add eavesdropping to my list of misdemeanors, which also include potato destruction-," he reached the pathway, "-and reading other people's books."

"I'll try to remember to do so." She smiled and dropped a half-curtsey, "Goodbye, Prince Thomas."

Thomas bowed, "Good evening, Miss Catherine."

Then the prince returned to his horse, loosened the reins from around the fence, and climbed up into the saddle. He glanced back once at the house, only to find that the door had been closed.

There was, however, a stirring of curtains in one of the five windows at the top of the house. Someone had been looking out.

He waited for a few seconds, and was rewarded by the sight of a small girl's face peeping at him from behind the curtains. Thomas grinned and turned his horse down the street, allowing the clicking of hooves to fill his ears as his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

* * *

Thomas walked into his room and tossed his tailcoat over a chair, sighing. He began to undo his vest buttons, fully intent on taking a bath before sending his butler for some food. Yawning, the prince made his way over to his dresser, taking no heed of his cousin lounging on the floor next to his bed. Frederick however, did notice him.

"About time you got back, Goliath."

He glanced behind him, pulling the cravat from around his neck. "Freddy? Who let you in?"

"I did." Frederick answered, rising from where he had been reading the latest 'Dandyman's Monthly'. He rolled up his magazine and pointed it at his cousin. "Wot on earth took you so long?"

"There were a lot of noblemen on that list." Thomas replied dismissively, opening one of his drawers and withdrawing a neatly folded shirt.

"So? All you had to do was toss-," Frederick mimed throwing his magazine to his left, "-the reports to 'em and then come a-galloping back to finish our tennis match you so unrightfully claimed to have won."

"Unrightfully claimed my foot." He retorted, turning around to face his cousin, a bundle of clothes in his arms. "You know I won fair and square and there's nothing you can say to convince me otherwise."

Frederick frowned, cocking his head, "I say, Goliath, you look right stuffy—did the heat get to you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it did. But thankfully, the night is drawing on and I don't have to do any more work until tomorrow. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go wash." He began to make his way to his bathroom when Frederick quickly stepped in front of him.

"Wait a second—wait just a second-," his cousin seized Thomas by the arms, staring up into his face. Frederick narrowed his eyes, muttering, "Something happened to you."

"Yes—my cousin is annoying me. Move, Freddy."

"No, Goliath-," he still continued to block his path, "-wot happened? You left the palace looking like a storm cloud and now you're practically a cheerful daisy? Wot's going on?"

Thomas shook his head and once again tried to brush past his cousin, "Nothing is going on. Now move."

Frederick gazed at the man and, making his decision in an instant, took a running leap and jumped upon his cousin's back.

"Freddy! Get off!" Thomas attempted to shake his cousin from his shoulders.

Locking his arms around Thomas's neck, Frederick ducked beneath a flailing hand and declared: "Tell me wot happened and I'll let go!"

"Gerroff!" The prince grunted, finding it more difficult to breath.

"Goliath, you know me, you know how determined I am!"

"Fred—I can't-," he staggered slightly, gasping, "-I can't breathe…"

"Oh—sorry, Tom." Frederick loosened his hold, but not enough so that Thomas could buck him off.

Thomas dropped slightly to his knees, demanding angrily, "_Will_ you let go?"

"Nope. I want to know wot's made you so happy. Who did you see? Was it someone I know?"

"No—it-," he swung an arm back and batted Frederick's shoulder, "-wasn't someone you know."

"Who was it then?" Frederick dodged another blow by shifting to the side.

"I'm not telling _you_."

He shrugged, "Looks like I'll be riding piggy-back for the rest of your life, Goliath."

Thomas sighed and then rose to his feet, an idea hitting him. "Freddy?"

"Yeah?"

"See that wall over there?" He nodded at the far wall.

Frederick smiled, "Yes, I see it."

"I'm going to smash you against it." Thomas proceeded to move forward.

"Wot?!"

"I hope you don't get too much blood on the wallpaper."

"_Goliath_!"

"You'll probably make an awful mess." Thomas turned around, threateningly presenting Frederick to the wall.

"But-."

"I might have to change rooms." He began to slowly back up.

Frederick squeaked slightly.

"Mother will be terribly upset—this was always her favorite wallpaper color."

"No—Goliath—_please_! I'll let go—I'll let-," he unclasped his hands and dropped onto the floor, "-go!"

Thomas grinned in satisfaction, "Good. Now-," he retrieved his bundle of clothes from the floor, "-if you would be so kind, go tell Ferdinand I want a sandwich—extra pickles."

Then, before his cousin could do much more than groan, Thomas entered his bathroom and closed the door, turning the lock behind him.

He had been relaxing quite comfortably in the bathtub when a firm knock resounded on the door.

Thomas groaned, "Yes?"

"Wot did she look like?"

"Did you tell Ferdinand to make me a-?"

Frederick rolled his eyes, glancing at the platter of food sitting on the dresser. "Yes, I've got your blessed sandwich right here. Those pickles make a dreadful stench, you know."

Thomas flicked a bit of water into the air, "Maybe they do. But they make the sandwich taste absolutely delicious."

"Some people don't like the smell of vinegar." His cousin pointed out, talking through the keyhole.

"Shame. But-," he grabbed his washcloth to scrub at his back, "-you can't please everyone."

"But you _can_ tell me who the gal was that you saw today."

Thomas moodily let a puff of air from his nose, asking, "What are you talking about, Freddy?"

"Obviously it was a gal because if it was any old bloke you'd tell me without blinking. Who was it? Was it Kitty-cat?"

He leaned his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. Closing his eyes, Thomas asked, "If I say yes will you leave me alone?"

"So it _was_ Kitty-cat!"

"That would be a no." Thomas murmured to himself.

"I knew it had to be her! Wot's it been—three weeks?"

He shook his head, "Two."

"So you _have_ been keeping count!"

"Go away, Frederick!"

"Afraid I can't do that, Goliath! There's too much at stake here!"

"Like what?"

Frederick sat down next to the door, listing on his fingers: "Like the fact that you've never thought it worth mentioning that you saw Kitty-cat! Like the fact that you deliberately _tried_ to not mention her! Like the fact that you were beaming like old king sun himself after seeing her! That's wot's at stake!"

"Don't forget that I might drown you in this bathtub if you don't shut up."

"Goliath, that's right rude, that is."

He took a deep breath, responding, "Freddy, _please_, nothing happened. All I did was go to her house and deliver the report to her father. He was not at home, so I gave it to Cat instead. Then I left."

"Sounds boring."

"It was not really that exciting. Honestly, the most exciting thing that happened while I was out was that Patricia nearly cornered me again."

Frederick straightened, "That vulture gal? Really, Goliath, she seems to be popping up everywhere. It's almost as if some cruel dictator is controlling your life and introducing that scavenger every chance he gets."

"Yes." Thomas snorted, adding, "And my nosy cousin is involved as well so whoever is writing my life story must _really_ dislike me."

"Wot's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like it's supposed to mean." He frowned at the deplorably small bar of soap in his hand. "Freddy, have you been using my soap?"

"'Course I have. Wot? You think I'd nick it from the maids and have 'em scrambling all over the place trying to find the culprit?"

Thomas set the soap back onto the small rack by the tub and sighed.

"You sound rather broodingly concerned, Goliath. Wot's up?"

"I don't know."

"You mean you don't want to admit that you know." Frederick corrected significantly.

He rolled his eyes, replying: "_No_. I mean that I—oh, balderdash! Freddy, I want to see her again!"

"Well—then go ahead and see her!"

Thomas shook his head, muttering, "It's not really that easy. I mean, for goodness sake the only time I _will_ be able to see her is if she happens to attend the same party I attend. There's no telling if that will ever happen again."

"Ask your mum to throw another party and invite her." His cousin suggested, feeling his stomach rumble with hunger. He eyed the sandwich sitting on the dresser.

"I've already tried that. Mother said she doesn't have any reason to have a party and I really can't tell her _why_ I want her to have one so… she's not going to do it."

Frederick nodded, lifting up the top piece of bread from his cousin's sandwich and patiently stripping off the pickles. "Then it looks like you're stuck, Goliath. Parties are your only option short of marching over to the gal's house again."

The prince groaned and sunk lower in his tub, murmuring gloomily, "You're probably right."

"'Course I am-," Frederick replaced the top piece of bread and sniffed suspiciously at the sandwich, "-but you're going to have to go to the parties anyway since you're prince and everything."

"It doesn't mean that she will be there."

"But if she _is_, Goliath? _That's_ what you have to tell yourself: but-if-she-_is_." Frederick took a bite out of the sandwich, chewing thoughtfully.

Thomas allowed himself to submerge fully underwater, thinking over what his cousin had just said. The water beat around his ears, making every noise sound dull and loud. He snorted and then rose up again, shaking his head and sending droplets everywhere.

Wiping at his eyes, Thomas asked, "Do you know of any way to ensure that she's there?"

Outside the door, his cousin shrugged, "You could always send a note ahead of time, personally requesting the host or hostess of the bash to invite the gal."

He ran a hand through his wet hair, standing up and grabbing his towel, "Wouldn't that seem kind-of strange?"

"Yes. But I can't think of any other solution, can you?"

"I suppose not. Unless-," Thomas stepped out of the tub and set his foot against the tiled wall, rubbing down his leg, "-unless I sent a full list of people for them to invite. It could be anyone—Geoffery of Orae, Michael, son of the duke of Florence, even some of the girls Mother had invited to that ridiculous matchmaking affair."

"And I'm guessing you'd slide Kitty-cat's name onto the list somehow?" Frederick asked, finishing the rest of his cousin's sandwich.

"Twice. Just to make certain."

"Twice?"

Thomas wrapped his towel about his waist and took the shirt from his bundle of clothes. He sat down on the small bench by the door, pulling the shirt over his head. "Yes. Whoever's doing the party might send an invite twice by accident. That would make sure she got at least one of them."

"Well, Goliath-," Frederick strolled over to his cousin's desk and shuffled through the mail he had already read through, "-there will be a party at Lord Clayton's quarters in two days."

"I don't know of any Clayton."

His cousin squinted at the invite, muttering, "That's because he's new. Just moved here from Calscon."

"Ah. All right—I'll send him a list." Thomas replied as he picked up his trousers.

"Best do it fast, Goliath. I'm not sure how the postal service works in the capital but it appears-," Frederick examined the envelope, shaking his head, "-that the fellow doesn't know how to address a letter properly. This one was sent back five times. And yet, where else would the prince of the country live but in the palace?"

Thomas unlocked the bathroom door and entered the room, frowning, "Did they really send it back five times?"

"Looks like it."

"Wait a second—how did _you_ know about the invitation?" He quickly came over to his desk, elbowing his cousin out of the way to gaze at the pile of opened envelopes. Eyes narrowing, Thomas turned to glare at Frederick, "How many times do I have to tell you to _stop_ reading my mail?"

"Seventy times seven." Frederick answered without once batting an eye.

His cousin's eyes narrowed, "That's for forgiveness, you dunce."

He shrugged, "Well I'm sorry. I can't keep track of everything, Goliath."

"Clearly. Anyway, I'd better write up a letter tonight and come up with a list for the thing. Move out of my way so I can work."

Frederick obliged, taking a seat on his cousin's bed as Thomas drew up his desk chair and prepared to write a letter to Lord Clayton. Thomas had nearly finished the first line when he frowned and glanced up.

"Problems, Goliath?"

"Yes." He looked around, his frown deepening. "Freddy—where is my sandwich?"

His cousin tapped his chin thoughtfully, musing, "Oh—um… well, see I was hungry and-."

"You _ate_ my dinner?"

"Dinner?" Frederick looked affronted. "I didn't know it was your _dinner_!"

Thomas glared at him, retorting sharply, "I haven't been home since early this afternoon! What on earth do you think I ate?"

"Apparently nothing. Seriously, Goliath, you need to be careful. You get rather cranky when your tum's empty."

"Go get me a sandwich."

"With pickles?"

"I don't care—just get me _something_ to eat!"

"Right-o." Frederick gave his cousin a wink and quickly left the room.

Thomas sighed and shook his head, returning to the task he had appointed himself. He scribbled a few more names before slowing down and carefully scripting out 'Lord Brian's daughters Elizabeth and Catherine of Corona.' Then, as an afterthought, he added 'George, son of the Duke of Dean' underneath.

After all, her sister would need a distraction.


	6. Lord Clayton's Party

**Author Note**: Sorry, again, for the long wait... :D I'm working on stories, but summer is taking its toll on my writing... PROCRASTINATION is one of the worst things in the world... when I had school, I was forced to prioritize my time and every chance I got, I wrote... this happens all the time, happened in high school, happens in college... sigh... :D But good news is, I've got something up for you guys to read again! :D The next thing I hope to post on is Family Life, and then I'll alternate stories... :D so nice just having two to work on again :) haha Anyway, thanks for all the kind feedback, I'm happy you guys like this story because I've got to tell you, it's A LOT of fun to write :D Anyway, thanks for waiting, reading, reviewing, faving, and making me happy :D hope you guys have an awesome summer and for those still in school-hang in there! :D

P.S. for the person who mentioned Montague being in _Romeo and Juliet_-thanks for pointing that out, I didn't even see the connection :D so I added a little summat for you :)

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story. Oh, and Shakespeare owns _Romeo and Juliet_, but it's in public domain now so WAHOO! :D :D :D

* * *

Catherine groaned, slumping in her seat in the carriage, "I just don't see why I have to come to this Lord Clayton's party! For goodness sake you two are going to be _married_ in a few months—you don't need a chaperone!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Oh hush, Katie. You know Mother's just sending you because she wants you to meet people and anyway the poor man sent us two invitations. You can't ignore something like that."

"I can if it means I don't have to come."

Her sister looked at her fiancé, ordering, "George, tell her that it's only polite to come and that it will be good for her."

The young man rubbed his nose uncertainly, "Um… I'd rather not take sides."

Catherine smiled, "Thank you, George."

"_George_." Elizabeth glared at her unfortunate fiancé.

He shrugged, "What? The girl can do what she wants, dear. She's very smart and can organize her own life. Besides, she's coming with us now so there's no sense in arguing with her about it when you've practically won."

"_Yes_, Lizzie. You've won so stop badgering me. I'm going to the party."

Elizabeth retorted, "And you'll hide in a corner somewhere with whatever book you've got stashed on your person."

"Yes I will."

"But Katie-," her sister impulsively took her by the hand, imploring, "-there will be _people_ there. And people are far more interesting than Leon of Pharx."

Catherine smiled, "Be that as it may, I'm still reading my book and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, _you_ always say no one interesting ever comes to parties anymore."

"But Lord Clayton is new so _everyone_ will be there. Michael of Florence—Sir Reginald—Lt. Bartholomew and his regiment—some of George's friends and a whole host of girls."

"The only girl I would be interested in talking to is Isobel. But, as she is not feeling well, she won't be there and thus I plan on reading for most of the night." Catherine replied simply.

Her sister sighed, "Do you even know half the girls who will be there?"

"I know of them. I went to school with some of them."

Elizabeth released her hand, nodding, "Then you know that not all of them are that bad. Who knows, maybe you'll make some new friends. But the only way you're going to do that is if you close your book and look around."

Catherine's patience snapped. "Lizzie, leave me alone."

"Fine. Have it your way, then. But I'm telling you, you'd have a lot more fun if you bothered giving _real_, live people a chance. Right, George?"

"Um, yes dear."

Catherine sighed and turned to gaze out of the coach window, wondering how boring the night was going to be. True, she had her book with her, and could probably be content with reading that. But she found herself wondering, slightly, if the prince would be at Lord Clayton's party. It had been a couple of days since he had unexpectedly shown up on her front porch, carved up her potato, and commented on her sister's choice of color for a doll's dress. She had not—despite her assurance that she would—told her parents or her sister of the prince's visit. It was her secret, one that she was not willing to discuss due to the commentary her sister would provide.

And yet, try as she might, she was unable to get the tall man out of her thoughts.

Well, Catherine said to herself, at least _he_ was a real person.

* * *

Frederick trotted through the crowd of party guests, idly glancing at the very pretty ladies present in the room. Lord Clayton sure did know how to throw a party. The usual dancing, music, talking, and food was expected—but including card tables? Clever, clever man was he.

"Pardon me, darling." Frederick said, smiling as he passed by another one of those attractive young ladies.

The girl smiled back, blushing slightly, and Frederick was about to turn a one-eighty when his cousin clapped him on the back.

"Freddy. Come with me."

"But Goliath that gal is-."

"You'll get the chance to be slapped by her later, don't worry." Thomas responded, easily steering his cousin towards the buffet table.

"Who's to say I will get slapped by her?" Frederick asked indignantly.

The prince nodded in admittance, "Slapped by her fiancé, then, who's standing right beside her."

"Oh—that big fellow is her fiancé? Thanks, Goliath. I owe you one."

"Sure do, and you can pay it back now by asking Lord Clayton if he's positive he sent an invite to Cat and her sister."

Frederick frowned, "Why do I have to ask? You're the man that fancies her, not me."

"Because I've already asked and he told me yes he did, but I think he may have said that simply because I sent him that list. I need someone who is not me to ask and I—I don't _fancy_ her, Freddy, I just would like to speak with her again."

"If you say so, Goliath. All I'm saying is that you seem very concerned that she's not here."

"'Course I'm concerned. What if her coach broke down or-?"

Frederick interrupted him, turning away and waving his hand dismissively, "I'll go ask Lord Clayton about her."

"Thank you." Thomas smiled gratefully.

"You're welcome, Goliath."

Thomas sighed and absently picked up a small plate from the buffet. He loaded the dish with random foodstuffs, not really bothering to pay attention to what he selected. His mind was focused on a much more important matter. After all, if she had _not_ come tonight it would just be another party. Just another gathering of fancily-dressed people with food and dancing. And he would have to settle with talking about boring economic happenings and tiny, insignificant wars going on in far-off lands. He would probably have to dance with the ladies—though after dancing with the girl at Duke Montague's birthday party he had decided that no one else could make a better partner. Her pace—her very movements—had complimented his own so precisely, it was impossible to think that another could duplicate it.

Not that he just wanted to dance with her. No, he would like to talk to her, to listen to her, to see her, to find out more about her, to learn all the names of her eight sisters, to know what she did during the summer… and the list went on. Really, it was quite amazing how interested he had become. It was also slightly unnerving.

Thomas examined a small chicken leg before depositing it onto his plate. Then he turned around to scan the area once more. Lord Clayton's chambers consisted of a handsome set of apartments in one of the higher districts of the capital. The man had rented them until he could find more suitable accommodations, thus limiting his ability to change the rooms. Despite this, his housekeeper had decorated the interior with a taste and elegance that was much appreciated by Corona's nobility. The wooden floors shone beneath gleaming brass chandeliers. Beautiful paintings contrasted well against the new wallpaper while floor-length curtains bordered each of the long, twelve-paned windows.

The rooms were also very crowded. Due to the lord's relative 'newness', everybody wanted to see if he could live up to the expectations of normal party-throwing. Older dignitaries, their wives, and even some visiting foreigners were milling about with the usual young gentlemen and ladies as they partook of Lord Clayton's hospitality and bounty. They hummed along with the music, ate the food, and danced the complicated dances that seemed inseparable from social gatherings.

Yet, amid all these people in all this frivolity, there was no sign of the wonderful girl anywhere.

Thomas felt disheartened. Perhaps she had not come, after all…

Just then, the prince was greeted by the sound of his cousin's returning voice.

"Well, Goliath, Lord Thingy said that he _did_ invite the gal and her sister and that fellow you added on with them. But did you hear one of Mr. Montague's nephews is going to marry that Capulet gal? Heard she's obsessed with balconies and that Sharkspar fellow."

Thomas rolled his eyes, "It's Shakespeare, Freddy. And yes, I did hear. What was her name again?"

"Julie, Julia—something like that. But the interesting part is that Mr. Montague's nevvy is named Shawn of all things. Funny, eh?"

"Not really." His cousin replied in a bored voice, shifting the food gloomily around his plate.

Frederick frowned, "Wot's wrong, Goliath? Can't you be glad that someone's going to have a happy ending rather than a tragic one?"

"It's not that it's just—I still can't find Cat."

"You seem to lose her an awful lot."

"Freddy, I never found her. For goodness sake, this is annoying!" He glanced around again, pleading for some small indication to rise up from the crowd. Then his eyes alighted on—oh, blessed Heaven that was it!

"Here." Thomas unceremoniously shoved his plate into Frederick's hands and, without another word, began to stride away.

His cousin glared at the dish and then called to the departing prince: "Goliath, how many times do I have to tell you? I _don't_ like pickles!"

Thomas did not hear him—not that he would respond to such a query anyway. Instead, he turned all his concentration on reaching the table sitting next to the dance floor. For that table's occupants were none other than Miss Elizabeth and her fiancé, George of Dean.

"Really, George, you would've thought that Lord Clayton was trying to impress the whole city." Elizabeth muttered, swirling the punch in her glass around and around.

Her fiancé shrugged, "To be honest, Lizzie, I think that's _exactly_ what he's doing. The man does have to impress some people if he's going to be a valued member of the royal court."

"But hiring 'Antonio's Traveling Musicians' might have been a bit much, don't you think?"

"Nah. Does this cinnamon crumb cake taste dry to you?" George held out a forkful of cake for Elizabeth to taste.

She chewed thoughtfully, murmuring, "Slightly. Anyway, where do you think Katie has gone off to?"

"Hopefully to find better cake-," George stopped, looking up when a shadow fell over him. His expression of confusion rapidly changed into a broad grin and he stood up, taking Thomas by the hand, "Well hello, Thomas! It's been years, hasn't it?"

"A few—a few years." The prince replied uncertainly.

"At least eight, by my reckoning." George said, shaking the prince's hand vigorously. "How are you doing, good sir?"

Thomas smiled back, "Quite fine, thank you."

Elizabeth, however, was staring at her fiancé in shock. "George! You know the prince?"

"What do you mean 'you know the prince'? Of course I know the prince, I went to school with him!" George laughed, shaking his head and taking a seat, gesturing the prince to do the same.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew the prince?" She asked, narrowing her eyes—which Thomas saw were just as green as her sister's.

"I didn't think it was that important."

Then Thomas, finally remembering the duke's son from his years at the capital's university, snapped his fingers. "George, son of Duke Johnson, of course! How are you doing?"

George beamed, replying, "I'm just brilliant. Have you met my fiancée Elizabeth? We just got engaged not three days ago."

"Miss Elizabeth, congratulations." The prince nodded respectfully. "But I believe we have met before. She came to that silly matchmaking affair my mother cooked up."

"Ah yes! And I was a waiter there too. Wow, those girls get thirsty. I swear I had to fill up more glasses than one of those Axurian monks need to water their camels in-." He stopped when his fiancée elbowed him in the ribs.

"George, I think he understands."

"Well yes but-," he frowned, glancing between Elizabeth and Thomas. Realization dawned on him, and he said, "Ah—you must have come over here for some reason, haven't you, Thomas?"

"I wanted to inquire after your family's health, Miss Elizabeth—and yours too, George." He added hastily, hoping that the faint arching of Elizabeth's eyebrow did not mean suspicion.

Unfortunately for him, it did.

"They're doing splendid, thanks for asking, Thomas." George answered, completely oblivious to the shrewd look his fiancée was giving the prince. He patted Elizabeth's hand, urging, "Tell him about your family, love."

His fiancée smiled—in a way Thomas was not quite comfortable with—and said, "Well, my family is doing quite fine. Daddy and Mother are in good health, as are all my sisters. In fact-," she studied the prince's face, "-Katie—or Catherine, rather—should be around here somewhere."

Thomas immediately felt his spirits rise, and he grinned slightly. "Is she?"

"She is _indeed_, your Highness." Elizabeth replied, feeling victorious.

"Well I would like to—um…" He paused, trying to form a sentence that did not reveal his interests more than he wanted. "Do you know where she is?"

George shook his head, "Can't help you there, Thomas. Katie runs off at parties, doesn't she, Lizzie?" He smirked, forking up a mouthful of cake, "Never wants to spend much time in—oof! Why did you elbow me for?"

"I didn't, dearest." Elizabeth said calmly.

He narrowed his eyes, countering, "Yes, you did. I don't see anyone else at this table and Thomas most _certainly_ didn't do it or I'd have fallen out of my chair."

"Excuse me." The prince quickly rose to his feet and, after dropping a short bow, left.

"Lizzie, that's the second time you-," George groaned, feeling his side, when his fiancée stepped on his foot. "_Ow_!"

"George-," Elizabeth grabbed him by the collar, yanking him closer so she could hiss in his ear, "-I think he was looking for Katie!"

"Who? And darling, do you think you could let go, that's a new jacket."

"The prince! His Highness! The royal bloke you went to school with for years and apparently decided not to tell me about!"

"Lizzie, I don't think-."

She released him, clasping her hands together and whispering, "Oh, I hope he finds her."

"Why?" Her fiancé asked, rubbing at his neck.

"Because I think Katie likes him. And if he likes her… Oh, George, this could work very well." She laid her hand fondly on his wrist, sighing happily.

George shrugged and continued eating his cake, responding, "Whatever makes you happy, dear."

* * *

Thomas brushed past a conversing waiter and giggling lady, searching through Lord Clayton's guests for Catherine. She was here—he had just received confirmation from her sister. She was here—and he was going to see her again even if it took him all night.

Determination rose in his chest, and he skirted the dance floor, looking amongst the dancers. Their weaving, twirling forms made his quest more difficult, but as far as he could tell, Catherine was not dancing at that moment. Good. That meant he did not have to do anything rash or-.

"Prince Thomas of Corona! How are you, sir?" A heavy hand grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him around so that he found himself staring up into the face of Prince Geoffrey of Orae.

"Geoff?" Thomas asked, surprised to find one of his best friends standing before him.

"How are you doing, Tom?" The prince of Orae was a very big man—bigger than Thomas, even—with an expansive personality. He slapped Thomas upon the back, causing him to stagger slightly, and turned to the men he had been speaking with.

"Gentlemen-," Geoffrey declared proudly, "-may I introduce the heir of Corona and one of my closest friends, his Highness Prince Thomas. Tom, these are some trade representatives of Orae and they-"

"Deal with goats, sir." One of men said in a thin voice.

"All kinds of goats." His companion said.

"Thousands of goats." The third man added, sniffing.

Thomas managed to bow, responding, "Naturally. Um—Geoff I've got to-."

"Did you know the price of goat milk is increasing in the Torren Peninsula, Tom? It's the most amazing thing. Tell him, Barkinson or whatever your name is." Geoffrey said, waving to one of the men.

"Borkins, your Highness. But yes, the prices are increasing due to the rising level of demand in the richer sector of the Torren Peninsula's economy and-."

"Great—love to hear about it—but later. Geoff, I've got to go." Thomas said seriously, patting the prince of Orae on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd once more.

The tall prince slipped past a group of girls fanning themselves and commenting on one of the particularly fast dances. He heard only snippets of their conversation, but something caught his ear.

"Keeps saying she wants to dance with the prince, poor thing."

"Doesn't she know he's not interested?"

"Suppose not. Silly girl keeps deluding herself and-."

Thomas stopped, wondering if he should go back when another voice—or rather an ear-splitting screech—cut through the sound of music and chatter.

"TOM-TOM!"  
"I thought I _didn't_ put you on the list." The prince growled, dodging a herd of chuckling noblemen and searching for someplace to hide.

Behind him, he could hear several moans as Patricia barreled through a trio of waiters. He veered left, dashing straight across the dance floor, and into the second chamber. Thomas then slowed and squeezed himself into a mob of grumbling guild masters and their apprentices. Back up against the chimneypiece, the prince scanned the mass of people flitting about the room. There were three card tables set up in the room, as well as a small alcove to the right in which a billiard table stood. Men, many of them puffing on pipes, were playing a competitive game of pool in the alcove. A cluster of Corona's army officers, however, entertained several young ladies at the card tables by shuffling and dealing out hands.

A well-dressed soldier, whose name Thomas could not remember though he recognized him as one of the royal guard, leaned against a card table as he chatted with a girl. Eventually, the girl in question took to the piano and began playing a light aria, the soldier humming along appreciatively as he tapped his boots. The music wafted through the room, falling over the rest of the hubbub like a soft veil, and Thomas relaxed somewhat.

As far as he could see, Patricia had not followed him into the chamber after all. Maybe if he ducked into the hallway he could double-back and continue his search in peace…

Thomas left the chimneypiece and had just entered the corridor when he heard clicking heels. He glanced down and saw the tiny girl impertinently questioning one of the servants.

"He's about this tall—really tall—and he's the gorgeous, hunky prince of Corona for goodness sake! What do you mean you can't-?"

"Time to get out of here." Thomas murmured, marching over to the first door he could find and immediately entering the room.

He shut the door, standing in a darkness that smelled vaguely of mothballs.

Just then, the voice he had been waiting to hear all night met his ears.

"Whoever you are, get your own closet. And would you please move—you're blocking my light."

Thomas frowned, "Cat?"

"Is that—_your_ _Highness_?"

"M-miss Catherine! How are you this fine evening? You're looking lovely."

There was a pause as footsteps trotted past the door.

"That's very nice of you to say that, your Highness, but you haven't seen me yet."

"Right…" He winced, and then glanced around in the near darkness. Thanks to the slight crack between floor and door, a very thin sheet of light illuminated the small room. He could see what appeared—and when he raised his arm—felt like rows and rows of cloaks, jackets, and coats.

He was in Lord Clayton's coat closet, and so, apparently, was Catherine.

"Um—what are you doing in here, exactly?" Thomas asked, trying to see through the darkness to where the girl was sitting in the far corner of the closet.

"I might ask you the same thing." She replied, closing the book she had been reading.

"Well I—I asked you first."

"And?"

Thomas opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds before admitting, "I don't know. That—that's just normally the response when you don't want to answer."

She laughed slightly, and he felt himself grinning.

"If you must know, your Highness, I'm currently hiding from my sister." Catherine replied, watching as the prince's tall figure shifted in the dim frame of light from the doorway.

"Really? Well _I _am hiding from Patricia."

"That explains why you sound so nervous."

"Yes… um-," he cleared his throat, asking in a slightly too-casual voice, "-are you planning on spending the entire duration of the party in here?"

"Why? Do you think I'll be missed?"

Thomas shrugged, forgetting that she could not see him, and said, "Well, if Lord Clayton looks at his guest list and realizes you are not there, he might be disappointed. Not to mention all the young men out there who would probably like to dance with you."

Catherine rose to her feet, smirking knowingly, "Just the young men out there?"

"I thought it slightly impudent to count the one standing in the coat closet. But yes, he would also like to dance with you."

"Then why doesn't he just ask?"

The prince furrowed his brow, trying to understand the subtleties in her voice. Finally he said, "All right. Miss Catherine, would you consent to dance with-?"

Just then, the door of the closet opened as one of Lord Clayton's servants walked in with an armful of jackets.

Aside from being blinded by light and half-afraid of Patricia latching onto his hand, Thomas realized that Catherine was now standing beside him.

The servant raised his eyebrows, gazing sternly at the two of them. He sighed, remarking, "I know that you city-folk may not have the high level of decorum we hold in Calscon. However, I am compelled to tell you that Lord Clayton doesn't tolerate these types of shenanigans and-."

Thomas shook his head, stammering, "Um, we—we weren't-."

"Although, if you persist in your unseemly behavior I will be forced to throw you out and-."

"Nothing happened and-."

Catherine, however, had taken his arm, "It's okay, Tom-Tom. We'll just have to find a more private room where _some_ people won't interrupt us." She glared at the servant.

The servant rolled his eyes, "Madam, I was not aware you were using the closet as a rendezvous point."

"Clearly. Come, Tom-Tom. Let's go."

"But we weren't-," Thomas tried again, and then stopped upon seeing the faintly amused look on the girl's face. Weakly, he replied, "Very—very well, darling."

They exited the closet together, with Catherine calmly leading the flustered prince down the hall.

"Just keep walking, your Highness. Don't look back. Don't-!" She said sharply, causing him to hurriedly return his gaze to the front.

He took a deep breath, "You are-."

"Bossy?"

"I was going to say extremely clever, but bossy works." Thomas grinned down at her as they entered the main chamber.

Catherine smiled, "Well, I knew you were fighting for a good excuse for being found in the coat closet. I decided to give you some help."

"I would have gotten there eventually."

"But he'd never have believed you. I know people from Calscon and most of them seem to have a very low opinion of the aristocracy of the capital."

"Why is that?"

She shrugged, moving carefully through the crowd. "The idle entertainment of city-life is termed 'roguish and rough' and it's often considered best to avoid if possible."

"But Calscon is a small city in itself." Thomas protested, not realizing that the girl was leading him to a corner of the dance floor.

"Doesn't matter. Calscon is smaller than the capital and therefore it's less morally-corrupt."

He narrowed his eyes, "Morally-corrupt?"

"As I said, they have a very low opinion of we who live here." Catherine replied, turning to look up at him.

"Well I think that Lord Clayton will find such an assessment very mistaken after tonight." Thomas said confidently.

"Not if he listens to his servants."

For a second, Thomas was at a loss for words. He instead settled himself with gazing at the dancing couples gliding across the floor, seeming to have forgotten that Catherine still had her arm linked in his. Already watching the dancers, she also seemed to have forgotten.

The noblemen and ladies twirled and swooped gracefully, keeping in time with a melody of flutes and strings. Shining skirts swirled around each other while squeaking dress boots scooted across the wood. The musicians started playing trios of high notes, increasing the speed of the dance. The participants adjusted smoothly, stepping faster as the rhythm changed. Then, a minute later, it began to slow once more as the song drew towards the end.

"You know, you'd look quite nice out there." Thomas said quietly, nodding to the dance floor.

Catherine glanced at him, "That's a matter of opinion."

"Well, I think you would." He said, raising his eyebrows to such exaggerated heights that a small smile crept across her face. "Care to dance?"

She gave a half-shrug, "Why not? Let's see if you've improved since last time."

"Was I really that bad?" Thomas asked, leading her out onto the floor.

"No." Catherine shook her head, grinning. "No, your Highness, you danced quite well. I was only joking."

"Ah. But of course."

The music started again, and, as customary for the type of song, each partner either curtsied or bowed to the other. Then Thomas stepped forward and gently took her right hand in his left while setting his other hand slightly below her left shoulder blade. She placed her free hand on his shoulder, gazing up at him. Seconds later, the tempo took off, and they started to waltz.

For the first several measures, they did not speak, allowing the music and chattering and rocking footsteps to fill up the silence. Thomas marveled at the ease with which the girl adapted to his movements. She really was the perfect partner. Every time he shifted to the right or left, she followed him exactly. Each step backward for him was a step forward for her, and vice versa. She actually seemed to—oh, it was time to twirl her.

He raised his left arm higher, lowering the other to allow the girl to turn. Upon sliding her hand back onto his shoulder, Catherine said softly, "Nicely done, your Highness. You're a very smooth dancer."

"Thank you for the compliment, but all the praise goes to those patient teachers who struggled and forced me through my dance lessons." Thomas replied, quickening his pace as the musicians took up a swifter melody.

"'Struggled and forced'?"

He smirked ruefully, "Let's just say that as a young boy I was not a willing student. I would much rather have spent my time getting into trouble with my cousins. In fact—one of the newer windows in the palace library is a result of my skipping a dance lesson."

She followed him around another dancing couple, commenting, "I suppose the old window's demise came from whatever alternative you found that day?"

"It did. But, to be completely honest, it _was_ Freddy's fault. I told him not to throw the ball at me but he did it anyway."

"And who is Freddy?" Catherine asked, recognizing the name.

Thomas shook his head, answering, "My cousin—youngest son of my mother's third eldest sister. His full name is Sir Frederick Hadrian III of Livesley, and he is a bit strange, to say the least. I believe you've met him before?"

"Was he that thin man who called me 'Kitty-cat'?"

"I told you, he's a bit strange. I mean, his nickname for me is 'Goliath', which really doesn't make much sense."

She raised an eyebrow, smiling.

Thomas laughed shortly and added, "Or—it wouldn't make much sense—if it wasn't for the whole height thing."

"You _are_ quite tall."

"Not too tall, I hope."

Catherine feigned studying him, and shrugged, "Well, I can still hit you in the head with a book so I suppose it's all right."

The prince cocked his head, "Speaking of which, I'm still curious. How did you ever learn how to read Leon of Pharx?"

"I read it, that's how."

Thomas smirked self-mockingly, muttering, "Okay, either you misunderstand my question or you simply don't want to answer it."

"And which do you think it is, your Highness?" Catherine asked, her voice teasing.

"At the moment-," he held out his arm for her to twirl once more, "-the latter."

"Then you are correct." She said, completing the turn to face him again.

"Okay, maybe if I explain my curiosity, you'll consent to answer me?"

The girl nodded, waiting for him to continue.

Thomas sighed slightly and began, "As a member of Corona's royal family I was required to read the works of many philosopher-poets in school. I had the greatest tutors of the country, and one in particular had dedicated his life to studying Leon of Pharx. But I have to tell you-," he met her eyes, smiling faintly, "-in all his years of teaching me, never once did he ever explain how to understand the man's writings. He just told me what they meant, not how he learned it."

"So what do you want me to tell you, your Highness?"

"How did _you_ come to understand the man's work? You were probably not taught this book in school but-," he frowned, "-there must be some method."

Catherine smiled, "There actually _is_ a method to my understanding Leon's work. It took me a month or two before I finally figured it out but, it is as follows: read it in silence five times; read it aloud ten times; sing through it twice; have someone else read it to you at least once; and, if all else fails and you've still not grasped the idea, open your window and shout it to the sky."

"Shout it… to the _sky_?" He was not entirely sure he had heard her right.

However, the girl laughed, "Yes, that part is especially important. I actually scared the neighbors' gardener when I did it. He quite nearly massacred the bushes he was trimming, he was so surprised."

Thomas grinned as they wove through a gap in the dancers. "So that's what a daughter of a milk lord does to pass the time? Read ponderous poetry and frighten the neighbors' herbalists half to death?"

"That's what this one does. Well-," Catherine nodded slightly, "-that, and take care of my sisters."

"Sisters? Ah yes, I hear congratulations are in order."

"For what?"

"Your sister's recent engagement."

"Oh, Lizzie." Catherine grinned, half in exasperation and half in contentment. "Yes, George has finally got up the courage to ask her. Not that she let him get more than three words in before screaming a resounding 'yes' and then kissing the poor man to death."

Thomas smirked, twirling her again as he remarked, "He didn't look too unhappy when I saw him."

"You saw him?"

"Yes, I did. I actually talked to Miss Elizabeth and her fiancé while I was looking for you and he seemed-," Thomas broke off, suddenly realizing what he was saying.

Catherine's incredible green eyes narrowed. "You were looking for me?"

"I never said that."

"Yes you did. Just now you said that-."

Thomas looked around, listening as the music drew to a finish. He hastily dropped his hands, murmuring quickly: "Oh, balderdash, the dance is ending. I'll go get us something to drink, shall I? Be right back."

Without another word, the prince disappeared into the crowd of departing dancers.

Catherine gazed after him, and then suddenly felt an arm wrap companionably about her shoulders. "Ah, Kitty-cat! I've been looking all over for you."

She glanced at the skinny young man now leading her off the dance floor. That beaky nose was unforgettable—as was the voice. Catherine smiled hesitatingly, "Freddy?"

"The very same, dear gal." He flashed her a toothy grin.

"Um, how are you?"

"I'm doing great, Kitty-cat. Wot about yourself?"

"Quite fine, thank you." Catherine answered, feeling relieved when the prince's cousin removed his arm to draw up a chair for her at a nearby table.

After she was seated, Frederick took the chair opposite her, propped his elbows up on the table, and laughed. "Goliath won't believe it when I've told him I found you before he did. At least he'll be a sight more cheerful now."

"Actually he-."

"Tell you wot, Kitty-cat-," Frederick reached out a hand and took a creampuff from an abandoned plate on the table. Popping the dessert into his mouth, he mumbled, "Things have been ten times more interesting ever since you strolled into our lives. Not that they weren't interesting before considering I've been playing the old 'bob-and-weave' with my Auntie Caroline for the past few weeks. Would you believe she still doesn't know I'm living at the palace? It's an amazing thing. Generally she finds me the day I sneak in but this time I'm still the secret houseguest." He frowned, spearing up another creampuff on a toothpick, "Creampuff, darling?"

"No thank you."

"Suit yourself." He tossed the creampuff into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, muttering, "Can't imagine wot Lord Thingy was thinking, hiring these caterers. Food tastes cheap, which begs the question-," Frederick got another creampuff, "-why can't I stop eating it?"

"I'm not sure." Catherine admitted, amazed by the blatant affability of the man.

Frederick frowned, "Really? I would've thought with you being the 'Sultana of Cookery' or wotever that you'd know all the amazing things a body can do with food. Leastways, Goliath told me you like to cook. You _do_ like to cook, don't you, Kitty-cat?"

"Yes I do and-."

"Did you know that the market price for Reubian Pepper has gone up twelve marks or something? Personally, I don't care that much but I remember Lord Thingy talking about it and I thought I'd share it with someone. I say—is that Prince Geoffrey of Orae chatting it up with those ladies over there?" Frederick grinned, nodding over at the prince as he retold a joke he had heard from one of his advisors. The joke, however, was lost on the young ladies, and they all sighed and departed in a group to find some other man. Frederick shook his head and downed another creampuff, muttering, "Poo mawn doagnt know 'ow doo chaht wiv gahls."

"Um, Freddy, would you mind very much if you went to get me a-," Catherine glanced around, trying to find some means of distraction, "-a glass of punch?"

"Are you sure, Kitty-cat? 'Cause let me tell you, that punch is not worth your time and-."

Suddenly, Thomas returned, holding two cups of the requested beverage in his hands. Apparently not noticing his cousin, he gave Catherine one of the drinks and smiled, "Sorry about the wait, Miss Catherine. There was a long line at the punch bowl and-."

"Goliath, that's right rude, interrupting our conversation like that." Then Frederick's eyes widened, and he sat up in his chair, looking between them. "Oh, so you and Kitty-?"

Thomas stared at his cousin, a firm line of annoyance creasing his forehead. "Freddy, what are you doing here?"

"Saying hello to Kitty-cat. I didn't know you had found her already or I would've-."

"Here, Freddy, have another creampuff." Thomas said, hurriedly shoving a creampuff into his cousin's mouth.

Frederick muffled some not very nice words to his cousin, but the pastry now jammed between his teeth prevented the worst of it from coming out clearly. Catherine glanced at Thomas, who grinned, and she smiled hesitatingly back before taking a sip of her punch.

"So-," Thomas nodded over at the dance floor, "-would you like to go back out there?"

"Maybe later in the night but I think the musicians are taking a break right now."

He frowned, turning to look at the empty floor and then over at the musicians. All the men were busy fanning themselves, eating and drinking, and talking to the young damsels who had stopped by to admire the enthusiastic violinist. Thomas looked back to Catherine, uncertain what else to suggest.

Frederick, however, had managed to swallow the creampuff and, shooting a glare at his cousin, said, "How about we go play a game of billiards? Kitty-cat, you can see me beat the cravat off Goliath over there."

The prince's cousin slipped into the crowd, leaving the two to stare after him. Thomas turned to Catherine, murmuring, "You don't actually have to do what he says."

"Why? Are you afraid he'll beat you, your Highness?" She asked archly.

He let out a deep laugh of wry amusement, "You _definitely_ don't know my cousin, Miss Catherine. He's hardly ever won a game against me."

"Bold words." The girl's response had more than a hint of skepticism.

"Reinforced by years of winning." Thomas replied, watching Catherine as she rose from her chair. "But, the night is young and I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to prove my words. Shall we adjourn to the game room?"

* * *

Frederick gazed down the long, polished span of his cue stick, sighting the target ball No. 9. He smirked, whispering, "There you are, love."

Then, with a short jerk and shove, he struck the cue ball across the table and smacked No. 9 into the far left corner pocket. Frederick straightened, listening as the ball clacked against the other two in the hole. He nodded and raised an eyebrow in his cousin's direction, earning a glare in return.

It was the second game, and Frederick had won the first.

Catherine, seated on a chair next to a set of adoring ladies who giggled far too much and seemed more occupied with Frederick's sly looks than the game, smiled. She watched as the prince trotted around the pool table and rapped his knuckles against the felt surface. The man had been beaten decisively by his cousin the game before, and his slightly annoyed expression seemed to only emphasis his loss. However, he had gallantly congratulated Frederick, and then challenged him to another game.

Unfortunately, he was losing that one, too.

Thomas bent over the table to hit the cue ball off the side and into a mix of stripes and solids. He sighed and stood up to see that his efforts were useless. He had not managed to get a single ball.

The prince picked up the chalk bit and rubbed it on the tip of his cue stick, shaking his head. He leaned against the wall beside Catherine, commenting, "Usually I'm better at this."

"Are you sure about that?" She asked as Frederick sunk another ball.

"Oh, come on, Cat." Thomas sighed, not realizing his shortening of her name. "It's cruel to kick a man when he's down."

Catherine, who _had_ noticed his shortening of her name, shrugged unsympathetically. "I'm sorry, your Highness, but every giant falls sooner or later."

"Too right you are, Kitty-cat." Frederick remarked, flicking his wrist and earning another hit. "Looks like I've only got the old No. 8 left. Wot about you, Goliath?"

"I have four left." Thomas muttered, sighing as his cousin prepared to sink the black eight ball.

"Maybe you'll win next time." Catherine told him, looking up at him.

He shook his head as Frederick made a few practice shots. "I don't know if there's going to be a next time."

"Come now. You can't give up."

"I don't fancy getting soundly thrashed again, thank you."

"What if I asked you to? Just try it again, one more time." She smiled, and Thomas suddenly realized how persuasive those incredible green eyes could be.

He nodded slightly, "All—all right."

Frederick knocked the 8-ball into its pocket and glanced over at them. "Once more, Goliath?" He leaned upon his cue stick, winking to the ladies beside Catherine.

Thomas moved over to the table, "One more time, Freddy. After that-," he cast a quick look to Catherine, "-I'd like to see if the musicians have finished taking their break."

The girl nodded, "Win this and I'll dance with you all night."

"Look at that Goliath-," Frederick clapped his cousin upon the shoulder, "-motivation for playing less like a wet sock. Oh, Kitty-cat, does your offer go both ways?"

"What?"

"Meaning-," Frederick started as his cousin began to rack up the billiard balls, "-if Goliath wins, he gets to dance with you. But if I win, _I _get to dance with you. And may I just add I'm a sight better of a dancer than he is."

"So he claims." Thomas called, patiently lining up the triangle of balls with the cue ball at the opposite end of the table.

"So I can prove once I've been given a good partner and a decent pair of shoes." His cousin retorted before turning back to Catherine. "So, wot do you say, Kitty-cat?"

The girl considered the two competitors. She nodded, "Okay."

Frederick beamed, "Great! I'll see you out on the dance floor, Kitty-cat. Soon we'll be knocking knees and bruising shins with the best of them."

"Oh dear, I hope not." Catherine replied, laughing.

"But Freddy-," one of the ladies beside Catherine pouted, "-you promised to dance with _me_."

The man nodded as Thomas struck the cue ball, replying, "And I will, darling, if the prince can improve his scoring a bit."

The prince, being a rather strong individual, managed to break the triangle of balls quite efficiently. Stripes and solids rolled across the felt, bouncing off the sides of the table and rocketing to the corners. One solid—No. 5—skirted the edge of the right pocket before dropping neatly in.

Thomas stood back slightly, a small grin crossing his lips and making his entire face light up. His cousin frowned, "Well done, Goliath. Try to get another in."

After receiving a congratulatory smile from Catherine, Thomas prepared to strike No. 7 into one of the middle holes.

Frederick turned to Catherine, asking, "So tell me, Kitty-cat—wot's it like living in the same house with eight beauties like yourself? Do you all fight over the washroom?"

She smirked, confessing, "Sometimes. Not all my sisters are home right now—Frieta's at school in Livesley and Mary and Emma are in Sarphona visiting my aunt and uncle. But when we were younger, there were days when the windows shook with the shouting."

"Now _that_ sounds familiar. See-," Frederick struck absently at the cue ball and sent it spinning across the felt, "-I grew up with six older sisters and every morning was like the Midlands Revolt all over again. There was soap flying, towels being torn asunder, and occasionally one of my brothers or myself got into the fray and we'd have to conduct rescue missions to get the poor fellow out. To be perfectly honest, I didn't know we had a third floor washroom until I was ten. My brothers wanted to keep me out of the massacre."

Catherine watched as Thomas scored another ball, "Six sisters?"

"And four brothers." Frederick nodded, wincing as his cousin made a rather complicated—and thus—extremely nifty shot. The third try did not go in, however, and Frederick strode around the table, fingering his cue stick.

He stopped at the edge and leaned over, sliding his cue to line up with his target ball. He muttered, adjusting his aim, "As the youngest, though, I was babied, pampered, and bossed around by the lot of them. I can't tell you how many dresses I was forced to wear—needed a sewing dummy, apparently. Personally-," Frederick thrust forward and succeeded in scratching the cue ball, "-I think it's their fault I'm a dandy."

"Yes, Freddy, it's _their_ fault." His cousin rolled his eyes, retrieving the cue ball and using it hit No. 3 into its final resting place.

Frederick sighed morosely and then turned back to Catherine, cocking his head. "I'm sorry, Kitty-cat—did you just say you've got a sister in Livesley?"

"Frieta, the third eldest. She's in school there."

Frederick knocked a stripe into a pocket, "Glorious day, that's marvelous. I'm from Livesley—old Da's the honorary Duke there, and my uncle's the Squire over in Little Rook. Grew up atwixt those towns and the capital. Mum says I'm a mixture of all three."

He frowned as his second shot failed to reach its mark.

"And now-," Thomas grunted, firing another ball into the lower, right-hand pocket, "-Freddy's decided to take residence in my bedroom for the next few months."

"At least until Auntie Caroline discovers me. Goliath, are you really sure she doesn't know I'm around?"

"If she does-," he sunk another ball and his grin—which had been broadening this entire time—widened even more, "-she hasn't told me about it."

Frederick stared at him, nonplussed. "Did you really just knock seven balls in while I was chatting with Kitty-cat?"

"Appears so. And-," Thomas scooted past him to reach the eight ball, "-now I intend to win the game."

Catherine smiled as the prince easily sunk the black sphere into the far right pocket. Frederick smirked, "Look at that. Goliath did have it in him all along. Just needed a bit of persuasion from the gals to do it. Right then-," he turned to the two ladies beside Catherine, "-to which of you lovelies did I promise a dance?"

"Me." The girl, she who had spoken before, quickly stood up.

"_No_-," her friend elbowed her, "-he promised _me_."

And then an argument that Frederick was quite happy to watch began to take place.

Meanwhile, Catherine walked over to where the prince was racking up the balls again for the next slot of players. She tapped a short rhythm out on the side of the billiards table, getting his attention.

"You know, if all you needed was someone to talk to Freddy, you could've asked me to do that beforehand."

"I had no idea he had gotten so good." Thomas replied, not seeing Frederick's attempts to get in between his fighting dance partners. A few sharp words soon led the man to getting slapped by both girls. The ladies flounced away in a huff, leaving their erstwhile partner to gingerly rub the fresh palm-prints on his face.

Catherine smiled, "All the same, I _am_ glad you won. I'm not sure if he can dance all that well."

The prince shrugged, "Let's just put it this way: he was taught by the same man I was—but his lessons lasted a week while mine have lasted about twelve years."

"Do you mind if I ask the musicians to perform a song you may not be familiar with?" She asked, watching as he finished racking up the balls.

"Only if _you_ don't mind teaching me how to dance to it."

"I don't." Catherine replied calmly. "See you in a few moments then, your Highness."

Thomas grinned, "Very well."

The girl departed for the other room to speak with the musicians. Frederick, still feeling his face and groaning painfully, came over to his cousin.

"I don't get it. Wot's a man to do to avoid getting smacked around here?"

"In your case, Freddy, I'm not sure you _can_ avoid it. But to more important matters-," he turned to gaze at his cousin seriously, a knowing look in his eyes. "Did you lose on purpose?"

Frederick gave him a half-smirk. "Now Goliath, _why_ would I do something like that?"

"I'm not sure…" Thomas said slowly.

His cousin shrugged, "Hey, just so you know, I like Kitty-cat and I think she'll do right well for you."

"We're just—I just want to be friends with her."

"I know. But I can always pray to God Almighty that He'll bash your head in the proverbial wall and knock some sense into you. Anyhoo, got to go, Goliath. I think there's another gal around here without a partner—name's Missy." He grinned. "Missy might miss me."

"Say that five times fast." Thomas dared, returning his cousin's grin.

Frederick shook his head, "I would, but I can't afford my tongue to be turned to knots. Have fun, Tom."

The man left for the crowded room beyond and Thomas, feeling very happy for some reason he could not quite explain, made his way to the dance floor in search of Catherine.

* * *

Four hours or so later, Catherine was sitting in front of her mirror, brushing her long hair and humming softly. The tune was the last one she had danced to with the prince. It had been a very nice song—long, slightly slower than usual… By its end, she had barely any time to say a quick thank you and goodbye before hurrying out to the carriage where her sister and George were waiting. Then, the entire ride home she had evaded what questions she could, merely replying that she had 'had a good a time at Lord Clayton's party and wondered when the next would occur'.

Even her sister could not pull something from as vague an answer as that.

This, of course, proves that Catherine did not know her sister half as well as she thought she did.

Elizabeth walked into the room, yawning and throwing her arms up outrageously. She, unlike her sister, had already changed into her nightgown. Catherine, upon coming home, had not done much more than plop herself in front of the mirror and brush her hair. Clearly her sister was distracted, and Elizabeth was ninety-nine percent sure she knew the reason why.

Elizabeth, however, was a master at interrogation. Her confidence was well-earned, and she sprawled out on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows, studying her sister.

Finally, she asked, "What are you humming, Katie dear?"

Catherine kept brushing her hair, murmuring, "Just a song I heard playing at the party."

"Oh, and what a party that was. Did you see the look on Lady Darla's daughter's face when I showed her my ring? I think the girl nearly glowed green—she was _so_ envious. And then of course all the other girls were glaring at me too."

"And I'm sure you basked in their scowls of jealousy."

Her sister grinned, "'Course I did. After all, I've got George of Dean, the best-."

"'The best man in the world and the rest of us will just have to do with the slimy leftovers'—yes dear, I know." Catherine frowned, adjusting a slight curl in her bangs that had not been there at the start of the night.

"Katie, when are you going to get dressed for bed? I'm-," Elizabeth feigned a rather impressive yawn, "-so tired…"

"When I make my hair behave." Catherine replied absentmindedly.

"Why? Do you think you'll see the prince in your dreams?"

The girl set down the hairbrush, determinedly not looking at her sister as she asked—pretending she had not heard her, "What did you say, dear?"

"I asked if you saw the prince tonight." Elizabeth said, watching her go over to one of their dressers and rummage for her nightclothes.

"Saw who?"

Elizabeth's ninety-nine percent bumped up to a full hundred. She did not answer, however, and instead helped Catherine with unbuttoning the back of her dress.

Catherine pulled her nightgown over her head, disappearing for a second during which Elizabeth mentioned casually, "George and I saw the prince tonight."

"Did you?" Catherine asked, minutely adjusting her sleeves.

"We did." Her sister watched as she gathered up her dress. "Apparently George knows the prince—went to school with him, it seems."

"Well then, now you have connections, Lizzie." She smiled at her sister, turning to the wardrobe to hang up her dress.

"Connections?"

"Yes. You'll be invited to the palace whenever you want, George will be the most esteemed duke in the land, and all the noblewomen of the city will want to blast you to oblivion."

Elizabeth shrugged, "Oh, I might have connections, but I wasn't talking about George. I was talking about _you_, Katie dear."

"Whatever could you mean?"

"Weren't you dancing with him tonight?"

Catherine turned to look at her smirking sister, whispering nervously, "I—um…" The triumphant expression on Elizabeth's face somehow strengthened her resolve, and Catherine snapped, "I did a lot of things tonight. How can I be expected to remember whom I danced with and whether or not I saw the man or-?"

"Katie, just admit it, you saw him again—you danced with him, _again_. You've been thinking about the man ever since you left the party and, what's more, you're thinking about him now." Elizabeth accused, pointing at her sister.

For a moment, Catherine was unable to respond. Then she took a seat back before the vanity, muttering, "Even if I did talk to him tonight—even if I did dance with him—it doesn't mean anything."

"Yes it does! Katie, you've been avoiding young men left and right ever since-." She stopped at the warning look on her sister's face. Then Elizabeth sighed, continuing, "Okay, I'm sorry, that was a low blow. But seriously, Katie, do you like him?"

"Yes, I do. He's a very nice gentleman, I've already told you that."

"And?" Her sister leaned forward, beaming at her.

"And I don't think he's interested in anything but friendship."

"Oh…" Elizabeth seemed to deflate somewhat. She narrowed her eyes, demanding, "Why on earth not? My little sister is better than-."

Catherine smiled, interrupting, "Lizzie, stop before you commit high treason against the crown. It's all right. I don't mind just being friends with him—if even that. He's a nice man and he could probably do well knowing someone who isn't after his name. Besides-," she glanced up at the ceiling, "-I've had more fun in the past few days than I've had in a long time because of him."

"Really? That's funny—I thought the last time you saw him, aside from tonight, was at old Duke Montague's birthday party." Elizabeth said offhandedly, watching her sister's face. "Have you seen him before tonight?"

Catherine's eyes widened, and she said hastily, "Speaking of Duke Montague, did you know his nephew is marrying Juliet Capu-?"

"Aha!" Her sister crowed victoriously, pumping her fists in the air. "Caught you, Katie! When did you see the prince? Was it out walking? Did he ride by on a dashing black horse and dramatically-?"

"No, his horse was white."

Elizabeth gasped, "You _did_ see him! When? Where? What happened?"

"Honestly, you're worse than Georgiana." Catherine laughed.

"Come on, Katie! What happened? Did he fight a duel to the death or-?"

Catherine shook her head, smiling fondly, "No, he just delivered a report for Daddy and then butchered one of our potatoes."

"He—_what_?"

"And then he told me that pink is a very good color for a doll's dress. And then he left."

"Katie—Katie, I don't get it." Elizabeth replied, pouting.

Catherine nodded, "I know."

"Oh, how could you dangle such an interesting story in front of my eyes and neglect to explain it?"

"Because you're too nosy for your own good, dear. You've got to learn sometime that people do not like you messing with their lives." Catherine moved over to the bed, but was prevented from lying upon it when her sister flung her arms and legs across it. "Lizzie-."

"I'm not moving from this spot until you tell me what happened with the prince!" Elizabeth vowed, grasping the sheets.

Catherine rolled her eyes, "Lizzie, are you really-?"

"Nope. I'm not moving, Katie. I refuse to move until you tell me-."

"Well I'm not going to tell you. So move."

"No."

"Fine-," Catherine seized her pillow, "-I'll go sleep downstairs."

"I'll follow you." Elizabeth said threateningly.

She smirked, opening the door, "No you won't. You've got the bed to yourself and you want to give that up to harangue me about Thomas?"

"Did you just call him Thomas?"

"Goodnight, Lizzie." Catherine walked out into the darkened hallway.

"Katie, wait I-." She shut the door and, breathing a sigh of relief, headed downstairs.

* * *

The sitting room was quiet and dark. The streetlamps outside had not been lit yet—the lamplighter must have been late—and only the shine of the moon and stars, and that ever-present radiance from the ocean, illuminated the room.

Catherine, tossing her pillow on the couch, wandered over to the armchair beside the windows and sat down. She set her chin in her hand, gazing outside into the night.

She _had_ been thinking about the prince ever since leaving Lord Clayton's residence.

Not that her thoughts meant anything.

After all, she had had a good time. She had enjoyed the party, getting to know new people—the prince had introduced her to some of his friends—and talking with the man himself. For a young man, he seemed to know quite a lot. Leon of Pharx was not the only poet they had both read. No, there had been Derrick of Florence and St. Micah the Fisherman and so many more… And then there was his cousin…

Catherine grinned, remembering Frederick Hadrian III of Livesley. There could be whole books written about _him_.

Unconsciously, she began to hum that same tune that had piqued her sister's interest. Her mind gradually drifted back to the pure mastery the prince had shown on the dance floor. She had never danced with a man—excepting her own father—who could move so smoothly. And, what was more, it had been a great deal of fun.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke her off from her reverie.

"Katie? What are you doing down here at this hour?"

Catherine glanced up, seeing her father's bald-headed form in the doorway. She grabbed a book from the side table, responding, "Nothing, Daddy—I'm just reading."

"Leon of Pharx?" Her father asked, his eyebrows rising above the tiny, circular spectacles he wore.

"Actually-," she looked at the book she had just picked up, murmuring, "-apparently I'm reading the almanac."

"A very good book if ever there was one."

"Yes—well-," she sighed and set the book aside, "-to be honest, I'm just hiding from Lizzie."

Lord Brian stepped into the room, remarking, "I thought the two of you had tired of hide-and-seek long ago."

"Daddy-," Catherine laughed slightly, "-_seriously_."

He grinned, "I'm kidding. Let me guess, she's been expounding on her future wedded happiness, _again_?"

"Well, she did do that but that's not why I—I'm here."

He frowned at her, "Then why are you here?"

"I'm just—thinking. You know… about stuff." She gave her father a faint smile of assurance.

Lord Brian shrugged and headed back to the front hall, "Very well, dear. Just make sure you get some sleep somewhere, whether it be here or in one of your sisters' rooms."

"Yes sir."

"Oh-," he stuck his head back into the sitting room, "-and Katie?"

She looked up, "Yes, Daddy?"

"Whoever the young man is that you're thinking about—I don't like him."

Catherine opened her mouth slightly, and then closed it, glancing away.

"Goodnight, my dear." Lord Brian smiled.

"Goodnight, Daddy."

She listened as his footsteps faded up the stairs. Then Catherine turned back to the windows, whispering, "Actually, Daddy, you _would_ like him. You'd like him quite a lot."


	7. A proposal of friendship

**Author Note**: It's late... so a short note... :D don't know when I'll be able to post more on this, but this sequence is one of the first things I thought about for these two... :) kind-of cool to finally be getting to it at last :D Anyway, to you people who've been sticking with me so far and for so long, thanks :D I don't think this one is as popular as the other stories (at least in terms of reviews) but some of you guys make a point to review every time and I appreciate it tons :D this story will probably be quite long, but I hope it will be worth it at the end :) thanks for waiting, reading, reviewing and faving :D you guys are great :) Happy Sunday to you all! :)

PS: for those of you who like Twilight... sorry :) (I personally have never read the books, but I've read about the whole 'chagrin' thing)

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

He had been searching and searching and searching. But, for the first time in several weeks, he could not find her.

Thomas closed the door of Lord Clayton's coat closet, frowning. He began making his way down the hall and back to the main party, the sounds of talking people, music, and laughter getting louder and louder as he approached. His mind, filled with thoughts of that wonderful but seemingly elusive girl, ran over the last many gatherings and banquets.

He had seen her at nearly every single one of them. He had danced with her, had talked to her, had sampled the food with her, and had even played a few card games with her, most of which she had won. He had introduced her to a number of his friends, as well as meeting some of hers in turn. They had discussed Leon of Pharx, had argued over the writings of St. Micah the Fisherman. They had disagreed and agreed over politics, and he found that Catherine had an incredible grasp on the issues of the day like no woman but his mother seemed to have. And she had spoken of her family—of all her sisters and cousins and how her father's work often gave them impromptu vacations out to the pasturelands. And he had told her about his own family. Had explained about all his cousins and the disastrous and yet extraordinarily fun Christmases they had spent together. Then, what was most impressive was her complete acceptance of Frederick and all his quirks and jokes. _No_ girl had ever done that before.

And the whole experience had been fantastic. It was unexplainable just _how_ it had been so fantastic—it just was. He could not remember a series of weeks he had enjoyed more. He could not remember receiving invites to parties in such good spirits. He had really been looking forward to this party in particular, considering it was the first one she actually promised to attend. But it seemed, however, that even though she had promised him she would be there, she was not.

She was—she was not there.

Had he done something to offend her? Had he spoken out of turn—jested when the topic of conversation had been serious? Had he been rude? Had he been ungentlemanly? Had his table manners disgusted her? Had he accidently trod on her foot while dancing?

Thomas glanced down at his boots, seeing his tense reflection gazing back at him. He did have rather large feet…

Or was it something far graver? She was to have ridden to the party with a group of her friends from school. Perhaps scoundrels had overtaken her carriage! The nerve of those men! Why would any person even conceive of such an evil idea and-!

The prince shook his head. What on earth was he thinking? He had no proof something remotely resembling that had occurred. He was just getting nervous, that's all. He was afraid he would have to dance with Patricia, or worse, listen to another one of Lord Clayton's boring stories about the wonders of Calscon. Maybe it was Lord Clayton? Maybe she did not like _him_. Yes, that must have been the problem. But if that was the problem then why had she not told him? She could not possibly think that _he_ liked the arrogant, self-righteous man anymore than she did.

Thomas entered the main room, pausing at the door to search the crowd of the gaily-dressed nobility. Nope. There was no sign of her.

Just then, Lord Clayton himself marched up. He smiled a smile that was nearly as oily as his hair, and bowed.

"Evening, your Highness. I'm pleased you decided to come. People here at the capital _certainly_ seem to enjoy my parties."

This self-impressed man was the reason Catherine had not come tonight. Thomas felt an incredible annoyance building within him, and it took all his willpower to put on a false smile of agreement.

"Yes, they definitely seem to, Lord Clayton."

Lord Clayton continued smiling in smug satisfaction, responding, "I can understand why, of course. Naturally my remarkable skills as a host have gotten around. Got 'em from my mother, see? Her aunt was a famous lady and did _she_ know how to throw a party! Not as good as mine, of course, but it's nice to have some family background in the area all the same." He then let out a deploring sigh, adding wistfully, "If only the musicians from Calscon were here. Ten times better than that 'Antonio' lot you city-folk seem to love so much. They would have the entire house dancing to Clascon's finest jigs and reels. And if I had the catering service of-."

"Excuse me, my lord. I think I see someone I've been wanting to talk to." Thomas hastily departed, his eyes focusing on the young lady before him.

After a few moments' tailing her, however, the prince groaned and left off. It was not her. Catherine never wore her hair like that nor did she walk like that.

"Balderdash!" Thomas growled, his voice so angry that it made passersby jump.

He turned his head, looking over the guests as they milled about. Where could she be? She was not at the card tables or watching the men play billiards. She was not at the buffet. She was not dancing. She was not even talking. She just simply was not there.

Muttering several choice words his mother would have slapped him for saying, Thomas strode away to stand in a corner of the room. Then, apparently deciding he had nothing better to do, the prince of Corona began to glare at the happily attended party.

Frederick, having been forced into searching for the girl, returned from the other room. A plate of little sausages balancing on his deft fingers, the man walked over to his cousin. Then, leaning over, Frederick began to speak around a mouthful of sausage.

"Rehlly, Goliah, joo shudan't be sogh upsah wiv Kitty-caht. She cahn-," Frederick swallowed, finishing, "-be absent from _some_ parties, after all."

"I'm not mad with her, Freddy. I'm mad with the fact that she's not here. I'm not even-." His cousin raised an eyebrow, and Thomas sighed, replying, "I'm not _mad_. I'm just—frustrated."

"Well, then go dance with someone."

He looked at him, "What?"

Frederick shrugged as he examined another little sausage, answering, "Just do something, Goliath. Don't keep trying to scowl the hair off of everyone. Just go and have a good time. Stop groaning about your kitty and go chat up some nice gal and dance with her."

"I don't want to dance with her, Freddy. I want to dance with-."

"I know. You want to dance with Kitty-cat. But clearly the gal isn't here tonight, Goliath." His cousin smiled at him sympathetically, "I'm sorry, but there's nothing much you can do about it."

Thomas nodded, murmuring, "I just want to know if she's all right."

"Have you asked anyone?"

"Not yet."

Frederick stuck a third sausage into his mouth, "Wegl? Der's jour problehm."

"Thanks, Freddy." Thomas clapped his cousin on the back, accidentally knocking the food out of his mouth, and hurrying over to where a group of girls stood at the edge of the dance floor.

He was about to say something when he heard their words.

"-terribly sad that such a thing should happen to them."

"I know, can you imagine what it must be like to have the Plague?"

"Absolutely horrible! Grandpapa's uncle had it and he lost his voice, all the toes on his left foot fell off, and then his-."

"Could we _please_ not talk about this while I'm eating Lord Clayton's food? The man doesn't know how to find a good caterer and frankly I'm scared to see what I'm swallowing."

"Still, you have to admit it is so unfortunate. Apparently Katie was the one who caught the cold first—and it was only a little cold then. But when her sister got sick, the symptoms worsened and now she's on her deathbed."

"No she's _not_. You know how much of a drama queen she is."

"But what if she is? I mean, dying before getting married. What a dreadful fate!"

"At least Lizzie is engaged to a man. What was his name again?"

"I think it was Walter or—I don't know. He's the son of the duke of Dean. But what is _really_ interesting is-."

Thomas stepped away from the girls, his mind racing. What had he just heard? Was it true? Was Catherine dying of Plague or of something much worse? Was she all right? Maybe it was just a cold… but what if it was not just a cold? What if the poor girl really had the Plague?

He quickly made his way over to Frederick, trying to come up with an idea of what to do. He wanted to make sure Catherine was okay. He was concerned. He would admit it. He was just very concerned about his friend's health. And really, all he would have to do was just ride over to her house and see if she was okay. That was all. He just wanted to see if the girl was feeling badly and if he could do anything for her.

After all, Thomas reasoned, she _was_ his friend. She was his dancing partner. And he certainly did not plan on dancing with any other girl right now while Catherine was unwell. It would amount to a betrayal, almost. A literal stab in the back. And if the girl _did_ have the Plague then she undoubtedly did not need more incentive to die.

"Freddy-," Thomas said, finally reaching his cousin. "Freddy, I've got to go-."

"Goliath, did you know that-?"

Thomas took the man by the shoulders, staring at him, "Freddy, _please_. Listen, I've got to leave."

His cousin frowned, "Wot-?"

"I've got to go see Cat."

"Goliath, are you sure-?"

He nodded, replying briskly, "She's sick. She and her sister are terribly ill and I want to see if there is anything I can do to help."

"Well, that's right nice of you, Goliath, but there's no sense in marching down to her house at this time of night. I mean-," Frederick glanced at the grandfather clock from Calscon, "-it's around midnight."

Thomas shook his head, declaring, "I don't care what time of night it is, Freddy. I want to see her."

"But-." He stopped, seeing the expression on his cousin's face. Frederick shook his head, asking slowly, "You're not going to change your mind, are you?"

"No, I am not."

"You do know that you're trampling all over rules of society, don't you?" Frederick asked, piling more food onto his plate from someone else's forgotten dish.

"It's just a house call." Thomas shrugged defensively.

"_No_. It's a young man going to a young lady's house to demand why she isn't at the party."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Then wot _are_ you doing, Goliath?" Frederick asked quietly.

"I—I don't know." Thomas muttered, shaking his head. "But whatever it is has to be done. I'll borrow one of Clayton's horses so you can have the carriage."

Frederick watched as his cousin began to walk away. He called, "Do you mind if I give a few gals a ride back to their houses?"

"Go ahead."

"Tom."

Thomas turned to see his cousin's normally mischievous expression to be one of sincerity. He asked, "What?"

"I'm sure she's all right."

He nodded, assenting, "Probably so."

"Good luck."

"Thank you, Freddy. I'll see you back at the palace." Thomas smiled and returned to the crowd to locate Lord Clayton.

* * *

"Katie." Elizabeth moaned from where she was lounging upon their bed. "Katie, I hate to tell you this, but I'm dying."

Catherine, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, rolled her eyes. "You're not _dying_, Lizzie. You're barely even sick."

"I feel positively awful. I've got a headache the size of the Emperor of Axuria's bank account and-," she coughed fitfully, "-I'm hacking out my lungs."

"Which, unfortunately, has not prevented you from telling the whole household of your imminent death." Her sister replied acidly.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, "How could you be so cruel to your poor sister? Really, Katie, you've been grumpy all night."

"I just don't see why I couldn't go to the party." Catherine stood up, pacing around the room. "For goodness sake, _you're_ the one who's sick. I just have-."

"A cold. Yes, we've all heard. But really, Katie, you had a fever just this morning and you can't risk-."

"I can very well risk what I want." Catherine responded, evidently still irritated by the whole ordeal. "Besides, I promised the prince I would be there tonight and now he probably thinks I've gone and lied to him."

Elizabeth slumped down in her pillows, murmuring, "I don't think so, Katie. If he's known you for longer than a few days, he probably knows what a horrible liar you are."

"What are you talking about, Lizzie?"

"Dear, you're far too honest for your own good. You practically stumble through whatever lie—and they're generally really bad ones—you come up with. Truthfully, little sister, I don't think you've lied more than fifteen times in your entire life."

Catherine frowned, "Oh, come now. Remember that time when you were seven and I was six and we accidentally knocked over that vase? I lied then."

"No, you didn't._ I_ was the one who told Daddy the waiter broke it. You simply latched onto Daddy's leg and bawled out an apology. You got me into a load of trouble, you know." Suddenly, Elizabeth pressed her palm against her forehead, groaning. "Ugh, this hurts…"

"Is it really _that_ bad?"

"Worse. I'm just putting on a brave face for you, dear." She looked at her sister seriously, urging, "Now Katie, after I've gone on, you need to make sure George still gets married. She has to be a nice girl who will look after him, but she can't be prettier than me. Whoever you find, make sure she's not prettier than me."

Catherine crossed her arms unbelievingly, "I thought _you_ wanted to marry George."

"I do. But at the rate this headache is going, I'm not sure I'll survive the night."

"Lizzie, stop being so dramatic. You're fine and-."

"Ooh… here comes another wave of pain." Elizabeth flapped her hand vaguely at her sister, "Katie, go get me a cold compress, and quickly. I still need to tell you which of our sisters gets my best dresses."

"As long as I still get your pearl necklace." Catherine said lightly.

Her sister moaned again, "You can have the earrings. I was planning on wearing the necklace to my grave."

Catherine tilted her head to the side, commenting, "You being very silly and macabre. It's an odd combination."

"Illness does this to a young lady who's betrothed. Haven't you read any of those novels?"

"Yes, and they're complete nonsense. Real romance doesn't work like that."

"This coming from the girl who reads philosophy? Very well, before I depart this world I would like to know, _how_ does real romance work?" Elizabeth asked, her voice betraying more than a hint of skepticism.

Her sister smiled, "There's a lot less 'chagrining' for one thing."

"And?"

"And there's more humor. You know that—you and George laugh all the time."

Elizabeth nodded, "True." She grinned somewhat, "Did I tell you that joke he heard from Lawrence? It's actually very clever, and that's saying something considering that it came from the duke of Gavin."

"Duke Lawrence isn't too bad. Daddy likes him." Catherine pointed out.

Her sister snorted, hand still on her head, "Daddy likes the fact that Duke Lawrence has easy access to a waterway that just so happens to cut through our pastures. He likes the trade—I don't think he really cares for the man, though."

"Why not?"

"Well—oh, Katie, will you just stop stalling and get me that cold compress before my head explodes?" She exclaimed, her face screwing up to exaggerated measures.

"Okay, dear. Whatever you need." Smiling at her sister's antics—which, despite how annoying they were, also tended to be a lot of fun—Catherine left the room and entered the hallway.

She had barely made it two steps to the bathroom when two of her younger sisters, Jane and Emma, opened the door of their bedroom.

"Katie." Emma hissed conspiratorially.

"Yes dear?"

"Has Lizzie decided on whether or not she'll give me her golden dress?"

Catherine smirked, "We haven't quite gotten to that yet, but I'll put a good word in for you. Now go back to bed."

Jane frowned anxiously as Emma went back into their room. "Is Lizzie really ill?"

Her older sister sighed and came over, affectionately stroking back Jane's hair. "Dear girl, Lizzie is just as sick as I am. She's just a tiny bit under the weather, but she'll be perfectly fine tomorrow."

"But she _groans_ so… Emma and I can hear her through the walls."

"I know. But don't worry, Lizzie's always been more theatrical than necessary. She would actually make a good actress if she wasn't going to marry George."

"But she loves George."

"I know she does, dear. But she also loves to exaggerate. Now-," Catherine kissed her younger sister on the head, "-you go to bed too or Mother will scold us both for being out of our rooms."

Jane smiled, "Goodnight, Katie."

"Goodnight, Jane dear."

Catherine continued her way to the bathroom, getting a small washcloth and dampening it with cold water from the faucet. As she rinsed the washcloth, her thoughts wandered back to the party she had been forbidden to go to on account of her slight fever. She really did feel bad about not going. The poor man was probably annoyed. And it really was quite a shame because she did like him. He was very kind and did not deserved to be lied to—even if it was inadvertent.

Catherine switched off the faucet, folding up the washcloth. "I'll just write a letter to him. Or maybe I'll just meet him at the next party and explain everything. He's bound to understand relatives. He has them too."

Carefully moving through the dim corridor, Catherine reentered her bedroom to find her older sister exactly in the same state she had left her.

"I see you're still suffering nobly."

Elizabeth cracked open one eye, "As nobly as I can. Did you bring my cold-?"

"Yes dear, I did. Here, I'll even put it on your forehead for you." She sat next to her sister, laying the washcloth across her brow.

"Oh Katie, you are the best, most dearest sister. Maybe I'll reconsider that necklace after all."

"That reminds me—Emma wants your golden dress."

Elizabeth shook her head, "She's far too young. I was going to give that to Frieta."

"Frieta hates that dress. She always says it makes you look pale."

"That's _me_, isn't it? But, Katie, I know that she really likes it deep down."

Catherine shook her head, responding bluntly, "Frieta never keeps anything deep down, Lizzie. She lets it come out—most of the time without thinking."

"We all have our vices. Frieta's too much of a blabbermouth. Emma's covetous. Jane apologizes too much. Mary-."

"_You're_ too dramatic for anyone's good." Her sister interrupted, grinning.

Elizabeth glared at her, retorting, "And _you_ don't want to admit how much you miss dancing with the prince tonight."

Catherine took a deep breath, starting patiently, "Lizzie, for the last time-."

"That's why you're upset about not going to that—oh, this hurts—party."

She stared at her sister, trying to find a flaw in her argument. It was quite hard to do.

Elizabeth pointed an accusatory finger at her, explaining, "You like him and you don't want to admit it."

"I'll admit that I like the man. He's very kind."

"And he's the prince." Her sister added.

Catherine frowned, "That has nothing to do with it and you know that."

"_You_ want to be friends with him."

"Of course I do. I've said that befo-."

"And George says the man hasn't looked at another girl since meeting you." Elizabeth replied breathlessly—a rather impressive feat for a girl on her deathbed.

"How would George know that?"

"Okay, I'm sorry, George didn't say that. George never pays much attention at parties—he always wants to taste-test the cake, silly, wonderful man. But I've _seen_ it, Katie. With my own eyes. And the prince has never-."

There was a loud noise as someone in one of the other bedrooms slammed their window open.

* * *

"Who's out there?" Lord Brian, wearing a pink, tasseled cap and a nightshirt, leaned over the windowsill and into the early morning darkness. He squinted in the light of the street lamps, trying to discover the perpetrator that had been tossing rocks at his bedroom window.

"Brian!" His wife's voice called from the bed. "Brian, shut the window and come back to bed!"

Lord Brian turned back, snapping: "Marie, I'm certain I heard something hit the window. I think it was those rascally street urchins again."

"Then leave the poor children alone."

"Marie!" The man jabbed his finger at the street below. "Those 'poor children', as you call them, could very well have broken my windows!"

"Well obviously they're not there anymore so just come back to bed, Brian. And shut the window, you're letting the bugs in."

Grumbling, Lord Brian did as his wife commanded, but only after giving another fierce glare to the world beyond his house. Then he closed the windows with a loud 'snap!' that seemed to echo in the quiet air.

Thomas, after having ducked below the hedges of Lord Brian's front yard, slowly got to his knees. He stared at the man's bedroom window, whispering, "Okay. Wrong window."

Glancing around the quiet yard, his knuckles scraping the wet grass, Thomas wondered if he was being an idiot. Clearly, if her father was calm enough to be sleeping, then the girl was all right. For all he knew, she was not even ill.

The prince groaned and got to his feet, turning his gaze back to the windowed dormers spanning the roof of the residence. All had curtains drawn across them, but the one at the opposite end of Lord Brian's seemed to have a faint glow as though someone had lit a candle. Was it really worth it? With his luck, that room belonged to a visiting guest. His next pebble would probably break through the window, or worse, bean the unfortunate sleeper in the eye. He really should just go back to the palace.

Still arguing with himself, Thomas snuck quietly across the path to the door and into the other side of the front yard. There were a few, well-trimmed trees over at this end. He had a much better chance of evading discovery over here.

Stooping, the young man selected another pebble from the turf, his fingers rubbing the mud off as he straightened. Just a few throws. If no one answered, then he would turn back. And if someone _did_ answer—and it was not Catherine—well, he and the ground would just have to get used to each other again.

"Mother's going to kill me for soiling my jacket." Thomas muttered, measuring the distance. He would have to put a lot of power behind the throw. Not too much, however. Too much would shatter the glass and then he would be in trouble.

"Okay, Cat-," he ritualistically kissed the rock before bringing his arm back, "-this is for you. Please answer."

Thomas swung his hand forward, releasing the pebble to the window.

* * *

There was a surprising clattering sound as something struck the window.

Catherine jumped at the noise, asking quickly, "Did you hear that, Lizzie?"

Her sister moaned, "I can't hear anything over the drums in my head. Katie, do you think the fever's getting worse?"

"I thought you had a headache, dear, not a fever." She replied distractedly, staring at the curtained window.

"The two are merging together like some colossal hammer striking me in the head. Oh—ooch! Ouch!"

"Lizzie, be quiet for a moment, I'm trying to listen."

"For what?" Elizabeth asked miserably.

Catherine shushed her sister, perching attentively at the edge of the bed. There was another rapt striking sound. Something _was_ hitting their window!

Before Catherine could say anything, however, the door of their bedroom opened and her youngest sister, Georgiana, raced in.

"Is Lizzie dying yet? Can I watch?" Georgiana asked, her face bright.

Catherine sighed, hurrying over to her, "No, Georgiana, Lizzie isn't dying. Now go back to sleep."

"Oh, dear little Georgiana-," Elizabeth held out her arms, her voice dropping into a weak croon, "-come hug your big sister before she passes on."

"Lizzie, _stop_." Catherine said, exasperated.

Georgiana frowned, shaking her head, "But Lizzie, I don't want to catch it."

"You won't catch it, dear girl. Just let me feel your little arms once more." Her oldest sister pleaded, letting out a shuddering gasp as she did so.

"Georgiana, please, go back to-."

Abruptly, Allison and Eleanor also ran into the room, demanding: "Did you find out what the noise was, Georgiana?"

"Ally, Elly, go to bed." Catherine ordered, using her most authoritative voice as she shooed Georgiana towards the door. "And take your little sister with you."

"No fair. We want to watch Lizzie die!" Both girls protested, dodging Catherine and running over to where their oldest sister coughed feebly.

"Oh, you dear little girls." Elizabeth sighed, taking their hands in hers. "Come—come to your ailing sister. The light of your sweet, innocent countenances will help ease my suffering."

Catherine rolled her eyes, even as Georgiana escaped her. "Lizzie, stop it. Honestly, you weren't nearly this bad ten seconds ago."

"Ooh…" Elizabeth cried, sounding like a wounded dog. "Oh, I think this is it. This is the end…"

"Sometimes I wish you really _were_ dying." Catherine replied angrily as another rapping sound came at the window.

"What was that?" Allison asked, pulling her hand from Elizabeth's grasp.

Eleanor's eyes widened, "Do you think that someone's trying to break in?"

"Break in?" Georgiana asked cheerfully.

"No, dear little sisters. No—it is only Death, knocking at my-."

"Lizzie, hush! For goodness sake have you no sense?" Catherine went over to the window, sweeping back the curtains and unhooking the latch. "It's probably just some silly bird trying to fight with its own reflection."

"Then why are you opening the window? Won't it come in here?" Allison asked fearfully.

Catherine shook her head and opened the window, "No, Georgiana."

"I'm Ally." Her sister corrected, put off by the mistake.

"Sorry, dear. I know." She gazed out at the blackness, her eyes adjusting to the lack of light.

* * *

Down in the garden, Thomas balked, his throw thankfully missing the window by inches. There she was, her long hair loose about her shoulders, and her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

She seemed annoyed, somehow, and confused. But gradually, however, Catherine's expression relaxed into a strange sort of peace. A pensive peace. And now she was propping her elbows up on the sill, resting her chin in the cup of her hands and looking up at the sky. She was gazing at the bright silver of the moon—possibly at how its beautiful face seemed to bless the Earth below. Somehow it made her appear ethereal—as though she was seeing sights and thinking thoughts that the mundane creatures of this world could never understand. It was eerie… eerie and utterly magnificent.

He had come to see Catherine. But now he was staring at something he had not expected to find.

Thomas, still hidden in the shadow of the trees, walked in a kind-of trance. His gaze was trained on the girl's face, not on the ground. He did not notice the tree root he was gradually, ever so gradually approaching. And, when he did notice, it was with a howl and heavy thud as he tripped and fell into the dirt.

Spitting out grass and sand, Thomas hastily half-crawled and half-staggered away from the trees. His mind was a complete blank. For several seconds he had no clue what was going on. He only knew that his ankle hurt and that he now had a hole in the knee of his dress breeches. Then he slowly turned his head upward, momentarily freezing in place.

* * *

"What was that?" Allison asked, hearing a gruff yelp as it rose in the night.

Catherine squinted, gazing at the disheveled form trying to extricate itself from her family's apple trees. "I'm not sure."

"It was the Reaper! He's come for me!" Elizabeth whined dramatically as Allison, Eleanor, and Georgiana all streamed towards the window.

Catherine felt her arms being pushed aside, her younger sisters straining to get a better look. Then the man, for it most definitely _was_ a man, stood up to face the house.

"DADDY!" Eleanor shrieked, her scream piercing the silence of the neighborhood, "DADDY THERE'S A BANDIT!"

"Elly-." Catherine tried to remonstrate whilst Allison and Eleanor clung to her nightgown, sobbing hysterically. "Elly, Ally! Dears, just-."

"A bandit?" Lord Brian, still wearing his pink nightcap, appeared at the doorway. "What ever do you mean, dear girl?"

Georgiana raced over to her father, exclaiming excitedly, "Daddy, there's a bandit in the yard!"

"What?"

"Daddy, there's nothing-." Catherine started, suddenly recognizing the tall form of the so-called 'bandit'.

Elizabeth pouted, "Oh, Daddy! Come, help your dear, ill daughter!"

"Not now, Lizzie, you can die later!" Lord Brian began to take to the stairs, shouting, "I _knew_ I heard something!"

"Brian!" Lady Marie ran down the hallway as the other three daughters swarmed out of their room. "Brian, you get back here! Let the police handle-!"

"Mother!" Jane cried, coming over to Lady Marie. "Mother, what's going on? Is Lizzie dying?"

"Lizzie's not dying!" Catherine shouted. "And Daddy, come back! It's not a bandit it's-!"

"Katie! Katie, we're all going to be killed in our beds!" Allison screeched, tugging on her sister's arms, evidently determined not to be consoled.

Emma came over to the bed, asking interestedly, "Did Katie tell you, Lizzie? I want the gold dress."

Elizabeth sighed, sitting up and responding impatiently, "Emma, how many times must I tell you? Only Frieta can-."

"Child, let go! It's all right, everything's fine!" Lady Marie protested as Jane and now Eleanor, tired of being ignored by Catherine, grabbed onto the skirt of her nightdress.

Catherine tried to disentangle herself from Allison, while, at the same time, trying to keep Georgiana from following her father.

"I want to see Daddy catch the bandit!" Georgiana yelled, fighting against her sister's hold.

"Daddy's going to be murdered!" Allison wailed despairingly.

Catherine fought with both her sisters, commanding, "Girls! Let go! Georgiana—_no_! You are not going downstairs. The only one who is going downstairs is me!"

"Why do you get to go?" Georgiana frowned, stopping her struggle.

"Because I need to keep Daddy from hurting the prince!" Catherine replied, finally managing to unwind Allison's arms from around her waist.

Lady Marie entered the room, staring at her daughter, "Katie, did you just say-?"

"Please, Mother, I need to go! Daddy's going to-!"

"Girls! Quiet down, quiet down! You'll be fine!" Lady Marie nodded to her daughter, "Go, dear. Take your father's bathrobe—it's in our room."

"Thank you, Mother." Catherine dashed out of the room and down the corridor, praying that her father was not currently committing treason against the crown.

* * *

Meanwhile, as all these hysterics were carrying on, Thomas had decided that the best chance he would have was to take to the side yard and escape over the back fence. Unfortunately, as he darted to the side of the house, he did not count on the obstacles that would be in his way. These obstacles consisted of the following: A forgotten rake, a garden statue, a small pail, a clothesline bearing white sheets and aprons, a wide puddle from the recent rain, and then later on, a rather large rabbit hole disguised by Lady Marie's rosebushes.

The next two paragraphs detail how Thomas dealt with each obstacle.

First, Thomas stepped on the edge of the rake, forcing the tool to spring upward and smack him directly between the eyes. Nose smarting, the prince stumbled to the side and scraped his shin rather badly on a worn piece of garden statuary. He also managed to stub his toe in the process, and limped forward to land his foot directly into the small pail. The pail was of a cheap metal, leading the man's momentum and weight to crush it effectively around his foot. Thus it was, with the pail stuck firmly upon his foot, Thomas clanked his way into the clothesline.

White sheets and various other linens flapping about him and the line wrapping about his arms, the young man continued his hapless journey. Clothes fell to the wayside as he darted onward, blindly skidding into the puddle. Thomas then slipped and fell flat on his back, the remainder of Lord Brian's laundry dropping from his body, with the exception of a crisp apron. Slightly damp, Thomas quickly stood and continued onward, finally entering the back yard, his foot still clanking with the pail upon it.

There it was—just within reach—the fence. His salvation was only a mere few feet away.

However, so were Lady Marie's rosebushes.

Thomas hobbled painfully toward the fence, breathing hard. He was getting there and—unexpectedly his pail-less leg dropped into the rabbit hole. The young man collapsed into the rosebushes, thorns immediately sticking in his arms and back. Shouting in pain, Thomas jerked his foot awkwardly out of the rabbit hole and pushed himself up from the ground.

Just then, the backdoor of Lord Brian's house burst open. Thomas, still groaning and gingerly picking spikes out of his skin, suddenly became aware that there was a very angry man running towards him. The very angry man was waving something in the air, shouting threats and insults into the early morning. Thomas rapidly got to his feet and took to another painful run, still heading towards the fence.

He had just managed to seize the top bar of the fence, and was heaving himself up and over when something rather heavy and sharp struck him against the right side of his face. His eye stinging, and his whole body throbbing, Thomas dropped like a stone. He lay in the next-door neighbor's yard, staring up at the dark sky and wondering if the stars he was seeing were from being knocked on the head or were, in fact, actually there.

Then a shadow fell over him, and a fierce voice barked: "Get up, you!"

"Sir, I-."

"Now!" Lord Brian roared, glaring at him. "Rotten bandit—stealing my wife's best apron and my daughter's pail and scaring the entire household! For goodness sake, man! You've destroyed Marie's begonias!"

Thomas stood up, his right eye squinched shut in agony. For a second, Lord Brian seemed taken aback by the young man's height. Nonetheless, the lord regained his composure and said gruffly, "Ah, a big man, are you? No problem—I can handle a big man."

"Sir, please, I only-."

"Wait a second—you're not a bandit! Why, you must be the son of one of the noblemen. Oh, when I tell your father you were-."

"Sir, I'm sorry I was-." Thomas tried to explain, ignoring the agony his body was protesting to him.

Lord Brian jerked his arm back to his house, bellowing, "Now! Get over here! You're coming to justice whether you like it or not, you great gallahump of a lad!"

The prince obeyed, wearily clanking after Lord Brian even as the older man continued to berate him for all the evil he had done in the last several minutes.

* * *

"I say, Edith, look over here!" Edna Marigold called her sister over to the window. "Looks like Lord Brian's found the prince in his garden!"

"This late at night?" Edith commented, coming to peer out the window at the dejected tall man and the shorter, furious one.

"Apparently he decided to come calling. I wonder if he realizes he's got a bucket jammed on his foot?"

Her sister shook her head, "Probably not. Oh, look—Lord Brian is shouting at the poor fellow about his wife's roses."

"The prince must have trampled through them." Edna shook her head, tsking. "But dear, those aren't roses—those are begonias."

"Are not. Lady Marie was tending them yesterday and I saw roses."

Edna rolled her eyes, "Dear, we all know you have absolutely horrid eyesight."

"Says you. I've got better eyes than you by far." Edith bristled.

"Oh, so it's _that_ again, is it?"

"Shhh!" Her sister pointed out the window. "Look—Lord Brian's marching the dear prince into the kitchen. Wonder if he realizes who he has there."

"Probably not. You know Lord Brian can't even remember what day it is—much less who's on the throne or what the prince looks like."

* * *

"And another thing-!" Lord Brian declared as Thomas stumped tiredly over to the nearest chair. "You've sent the entire house into hysterics! Have you no shame, man?" He thumped his slightly dented dictionary onto the kitchen table. "What do you think you're doing, trespassing on my property and-?"

"Sir." Thomas said, looking up at the angry man through the eye his hand was not pressed against. "Lord Brian, I am terribly sorry for trespassing on your land. I am sorry for causing you so much trouble tonight, and I promise I will repay you for anything I've damaged. I am also-," he reached down to wrench the pail from around his foot, "-sorry for waking you up. And I ask you to let me return home. I won't bother you anymore."

"What were you doing here?" Thomas opened his mouth to answer, only to wince as Lord Brian snarled, "Come! Speak up!"

"I was simply taking a shortcut through your yard and I-."

"Ah, from a party was it? I see now—you're drunk! You had too much punch at whatever stupid gathering you were at, and then have been stumbling around all night without so much as a single thought in your head. Young people these days." Lord Brian huffed, shaking his head. "I'm glad my daughters aren't-."

"Daddy!"

Both men turned to see Catherine—wrapped in her father's bathrobe—hurry into the kitchen. Instinctively, Thomas stood up. Strictly speaking, a gentleman is supposed to rise when a lady enters the room. But instead of bowing, he directly turned his face away, keeping his hand against his right eye and vainly hoping that the girl did not recognize him.

Lord Brian walked over to his daughter, taking her by the shoulders and hissing, "Katie, go back to bed."

"No—Daddy—listen-."

"Dear girl, I'm busy dealing with this lump of worthless, no good, and to be quite frank, rather smelly-."

"Daddy, _stop_." Catherine glanced at the prince, noting that he was doing his dead-level best not to look at her.

Lord Brian shook his head, continuing, "And he smashed your mother's begonias and he completely ruined our quiet night and-."

"Daddy." His daughter grabbed his arm earnestly. "Daddy, he's the prince."

"I mean, really, Katie, the scoundrel—_what_?"

Catherine nodded at Thomas, whispering, "He's the prince—_our_ prince. The prince of Corona."

Her father stared at her, his face incredulous. Then he slowly turned to look at Thomas.

Thomas grinned somewhat, murmuring, "Hello, Lord Brian."

Lord Brian hastily came over to the man, apologizing, "Your Highness, I am sincerely sorry that I shouted at you and hit you over the head with my dictionary. How can I ever-?"

"It's okay, Lord Brian. You had every right to-."

The lord clapped him companionably on the shoulder, complimenting, "You good man. I wouldn't blame you if you had me arrested on the spot. But, your Highness, think of my children—all ten-."

"Nine." Catherine corrected with a sigh.

"_Nine_ beautiful daughters and-."

Thomas shook his head, responding, "Lord Brian, please sir. _I_ am the one who should be apologizing."

"Oh, your Highness, don't-."

"Daddy, what did you do to him?" His daughter asked, suddenly realizing the prince was covered in thorns, bruises, scratches, mud, and various other articles and injuries from his frantic dash through the garden.

Lord Brian frowned, recognizing a certain lilt in his daughter's voice. He glanced between her and the prince, making a connection that neither one of them probably saw. A slow smile crossed his face, and he pointed at Thomas, instructing, "Katie, take care of him."

"What?" Catherine tore her eyes away from the prince to gape at her father. "Daddy—what on earth could you mean by-?"

"I've got to go check on your mother and sisters. Make sure he's all right." Lord Brian had already made it halfway to the hall before wheeling back around. "I'm extremely sorry for the inconvenience, your Highness. Please consider yourself welcome whenever you wish to come over. Good morning."

Then, without another word, Lord Brian departed, leaving his daughter and the prince to stand awkwardly in the quiet kitchen.

* * *

Almost a second later, Thomas said, "Um, good eve—uh—morning, Ca—Miss Catherine. Goodbye." He bowed and made to leave the kitchen, when she took hold of his arm.

"No, your Highness. I've been told to take care of you and-."

"Cat, _please_, just let me go home." Thomas begged, his voice downright wretched. "All I want to do right now is go home. I'm sorry I disturbed your night and frightened your sisters into a panic, but I really must-."

"_You_ must sit down. Now." Catherine forcibly sat the man back down into his chair, her tone one of bossy authority.

He gazed up at her, muttering, "You are being quite unfair."

"Too bad. Okay-, she gently took hold of his right wrist, "-move your hand so I can see what my father did."

"I can tell you what he did." Thomas said, resisting her attempts to remove his hand. "He threw his oversized dictionary at my head and—_ah_…"

"What?"

"Now I see where you get it from. Throwing books at royalty evidently runs in your family." Thomas smirked.

Catherine rolled her eyes, "Oh, very funny. Now, your Highness, will you _please_ remove your hand?"

"No, Miss Catherine, I'm perfectly fine."

"Your Highness, really-." She continued to tug at his arm, but he was still refusing to give way. "You're being ridiculous."

He tried to pull his hand from her grasp, protesting, "Cat—I mean—Miss Catherine, please. I don't-."

"Just-," Catherine narrowed her eyes and gave a tremendous yank, "-let me—see!" She managed to pull the man's hand away, whereupon she immediately dropped his arm and clapped her own hands to her face.

"Oh my!" She cried softly, staring at him, her incredible green eyes wide.

"What? What is it?" Thomas asked, feeling a sudden alarm rise in his heart.

"Oh dear!" Catherine shook her head, whispering, "Oh, how awful!"

"What? What's wrong?"

She shook her head, faltering, "I—I'm afraid-."

"_What_? Blast it all, Cat! What's wrong with my face?" Thomas demanded, standing up to tower over her, plainly upset.

"Oh dear, you—you might lose that eye."

For a second, Thomas seemed to deflate slightly. Then he saw the smile on her face, and he asked quietly, "You're joking, aren't you?"

Catherine nodded, laughing, "Of course I am. It's just a little bruising. I'll get you some ice."

"That's not very funny." He muttered resentfully, sitting back down in his chair and watching as she went over to the other end of the kitchen.

"Oh, yes it is. After all-," she stopped at the icebox and turned around to look at him, "-why can't I tease the man who squashed my mother's begonias?"

Thomas sulkily picked a few more barbs out of his arms, mumbling, "Those were rose bushes—I felt the thorns."

"Well, maybe the next time you fall into a rosebush, you'll get lucky and-," she opened the icebox, rising on tiptoe to reach in, "-find a flower instead of thorns."

"I don't intend on making it a habit to fall into rosebushes."

"And do you intend to make it a habit to visit my house at one in the morning?"

"I—I never meant to-," he stopped, accepting the ice-filled washcloth she was presenting to him. Pressing it against his eye, Thomas waited for the girl to take a seat on the counter before reassuming his explanation.

It _had_ crossed his mind to lie—to pretend that he really had been just trying to get home from a party. But, even before he had considered that option, his better sense and deep regard for the girl had made his choice. She deserved the truth, and he would give her nothing less.

"So why _are_ you here, your Highness?" Catherine asked, tapping her fingers on the countertop.

"Would you believe that I heard you were feeling unwell and I wanted to make sure you were all right?"

She nodded and smiled, "Yes, I would."

"Well, I overheard someone saying that you were dying of Plague. Naturally-," he rolled his eyes, "-me being an idiot, I believed the story, and I rode all the way down to your house because of it."

"You're not an idiot."

"I feel like one." Thomas replied morosely, pulling the apron off from around his neck.

"You're not. You're just one of the few, kind, decent men out there."

He glanced up, slightly surprised by the earnestness in her voice. "Do you really think so?"

Catherine considered him, tilting her head to the side and taking in his battered appearance. Almost as if he knew what she was doing, Thomas gave a hopeful grin.

She laughed, "Yes, I do think that. Anyway, your Highness, if you really _want_ to see someone who thinks she's dying, you can go see Lizzie. She's been moaning nonsense all day about the Grim Reaper."

"Is she all right?"

"Oh, she's fine. A bit melodramatic but otherwise she's quite okay."

"Well-," Thomas coughed slightly, "-I'm glad to hear it. And yourself?"

Catherine's smile widened, "Amused."

"Of course you are." He sighed, bowing his head to look at his ruined clothes and muddy boots.

For a short period, both lapsed into silence. Water, from his fall into the puddle, dripped steadily from the prince's jacket and onto the floor. A few thorns skittered across the tile as he shifted his feet around. Catherine lightly thumped the back of her heels against the cabinets below the countertop, glancing at the three candles her father had lit. One of them was a tiny stub, flickering feebly. Its sputtering fire cast shadows on the walls and threw much of the far end of the room into near darkness.

Then there was a faint creaking sound as Thomas leaned forward in his chair. Catherine looked at him, finding that the man had removed the ice-cloth from his eye and was now staring at it. He took a deep breath.

"Listen, Ca—erm—Miss Cath-."

"Okay, you need to stop doing that." She said, shaking her head.

Thomas frowned and glanced up, "Pardon?"

"For the past several weeks—and more so this night than any other—you've been constantly switching between calling me 'Miss Catherine' and 'Cat'."

He swallowed, stammering, "I—I am very sorry for—um—that. And I-."

"No." Catherine said quickly. "No, it's all right. I don't mind—it's just… no one's ever called me 'Cat' before."

He looked at her, a firm line crossing his forehead.

She shrugged, murmuring uncertainly, "I mean, I've been called 'Catherine', 'Katie', or even '_Cathy_'-," she shuddered. "My family and most of my friends call me 'Katie', and your cousin seems to like 'Kitty-cat' and—wait—_now_ it makes sense." Catherine smiled as realization dawned.

"Freddy's always been a bit too fond of nicknames." Thomas muttered, his tone betraying the slightest hint of annoyance.

"He's not the only one, apparently."

The prince closed his eyes, "You can—you can tell me to stop if you-."

She shook her head, "No, you can call me 'Cat'. To be completely honest, I would much rather prefer it to 'Miss Catherine'."

"So you don't mind the informality?"

"Not at all." Catherine gave him one of those amazing smiles of hers. "I like it."

"Oh… well, all right then, Miss-." She pointed a finger at him warningly, and he smiled, correcting, "Cat."

"Now that the name issue is out of the way, how is your eye?"

He shrugged, "Stinging—but not as much as before."

"You haven't opened it yet."

Thomas leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling, "There's a reason for that. Your father has very good aim."

"Not really. He just got lucky." Catherine said, watching him.

"Very lucky, it seems, since he struck me just as I was jumping over your back fence."

She frowned, replying seriously, "Thank goodness you didn't get further. Our neighbor used to be a general and he still carries his crossbow with him everywhere he goes."

Thomas smirked, "Is that all? I'm surprised he doesn't sleep with a knife under his pillow."

"He has about five of them, actually. And, I think he told my father once that he kept his old army sabre in his umbrella stand."

"Ah." The prince straightened in his chair to look at her once more. He grinned ruefully, "Yes, I'd probably stand better chance against a dictionary than against a knife-wielding, crossbow-carrying retired general."

Catherine nodded, "One that prides himself on his flowerbeds, too. If you had ruined any of those, you'd be weeding for a month—prince or not."

"And what sort of punishment do you think your father will have for me?"

She smiled, "I'm not sure… but he _is_ a milk lord. He always needs someone to muck out the barns."

"You're making me feel worse." He laughed grimly.

"I was only teasing, your Highness."

He shook his head, "No."

"Excuse me?"

Thomas held out his hand, "No, you are not going to call me 'your Highness' if I can call you 'Cat'."

"Then what am I supposed to call you?"

"Whatever you want." Thomas responded simply.

She smiled thoughtfully, "Okay."

"But, so you know, 'Tom-Tom' is off limits. That's Patricia's pet name for me." He flashed her a quick grin.

"Oh yes, I would never dream of imposing on her territory." Catherine said, her tone more than a little sarcastic.

Thomas nodded soberly, "You might lose an eye."

"And you would know what that feels like." She remarked.

"Yes. Yes I would."

They exchanged looks of amusement, both quite content with the possibility of spending the entire night talking. It was a different sort of environment than parties. At such public gatherings there had always been the invisible, but very solid, barrier of formality. You could converse, but it had mostly been small talk bordered by respectful titles. You could interact, but it had been within the bounds of propriety and social understanding. However, now, with Thomas having just blundered through the garden and getting hit upon the head by her father, and Catherine dressed in a nightgown and her father's bathrobe, taking care of the injured prince… well, now everything felt different.

And it was a comfortable sort of difference that Thomas knew would be gone the next day if he did not do something about it.

Thus it was, with a strong clearing of his throat, that the prince of Corona began to embark on a decision that would change the rest of his life forever.

"Cat, there is another reason I came tonight. Well—it's more of an idea that has been tugging at my sleeve for the past few weeks and I would like you to consider it. What would you say if I asked if we could be friends?"

"I thought we already were friends." Catherine replied, somewhat puzzled by his question.

"I would consider us more like 'friendly acquaintances.' We meet at parties, we chat, we dance, we eat… but always, only at parties. And, in my personal opinion-," Thomas sighed softly, "-parties are an absolutely terrible way to get to know a person. And I would like to know you, Cat. _Really_ know you."

She crossed her arms, asking, "And why would you like to, as you say, '_really_' get to know me?"

Thomas shrugged, "Well, I've never met anyone quite like you, Cat. You are an intelligent young lady who is not focused on marriage and who understands that _I_ am not focused on marriage, either. Needless to say, that is a first. And, later in life I may need your advice on matters that a man needs advice on but does not wish to ask his mother about."

"You desire an advisor?"

"I desire a friend. A friend whom I can trust and rely on like any other friend, but who also happens to be a young lady." He smiled at her.

She glanced down at the floor, "I suppose civic duty requires-."

He shook his head, "Not civic duty—it's a personal request from me, Thomas. Not from the prince. You can refuse if you want and I would understand perfectly. It is, after all, a strange request."

"Very well. Friends." Catherine slid off of the counter as he stood. She had to turn her head back to see his face due to his height.

He smiled, the ends of his mustache rising with the action. "Thank you, Cat. And now, I think I should be returning home."

"You can come over tomorrow, if you'd like."

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"You can't be friends with someone if you don't spend time with them." She replied candidly.

Thomas nodded, "Very true. Would your parents mind?"

"Not in the least—Mother loves visitors. Besides, you heard my father say you were invited over any time."

He grinned, laughing slightly, "All right. I'll come over tomorrow. It will have to be early afternoon because I have some business to take care of in the morning."

"Whenever you want." Catherine said, following him to the back door.

He set his hand upon the knob and turned it, opening the kitchen to the early morning air. He turned around, "Thank you again, for everything."

"I hope your eye feels better."

"It feels better already. You make an excellent nurse."

Catherine rolled her eyes teasingly, "Too many compliments."

"Too few." He smiled, stepping outside.

Catherine leaned against the doorpost, watching as the prince shuffled his feet idly upon the wet grass. Then he looked up.

"Goodnight, Cat—or is it 'good morning'?"

"It's good morning, Tommy." She smiled.

"Right. Good morning." He turned and started to make his way to the other side of the house—determined _not_ to have a repeat experience of the obstacle course of doom. It was only when he heard Catherine shut the door that Thomas realized what she had said.

The prince glanced back at the kitchen door, frowning, "Did she just call me 'Tommy'?"

* * *

Catherine dumped the ice down the sink, set the broken pail and muddied apron by the door, and blew out the candles. Then she very quickly hurried up to her bedroom, her mind whirring with what she had just agreed to do.

Was it proper to be friends with the prince? But he was not 'the prince' anymore, was he? He was Thomas—her friend—Thomas, the man who had crushed her mother's rosebushes and ruined their clothesline. It was amazing how a single span of minutes could change everything.

Yet, as Catherine slowed to a walk for the last few feet to her room, she did not feel uncomfortable with the idea. No. Instead she felt… excited. He was, after all, a very good, very kind man who was both smart and courteous. And he also had a sense of humor, which was always a plus.

"Friends with Tommy—who would've thought?" Catherine whispered, opening the door and entering her bedroom.

Thanks to her parents' efforts, all of her sisters except for Elizabeth had been returned to their separate rooms. Her older sister was still stretched across the bed, seeming to be sleeping. Upon Catherine opening the door, however, Elizabeth spoke.

"Katie, I think my fever's starting to go down—you can't have those earrings after all."

"I think I'll be fine without them, dear." Catherine responded, taking off her father's bathrobe.

"What happened, anyway? I remember a lot of yelling and something about a bandit?"

"I'll tell you later. Just get ready for bed, Lizzie." Her sister said, folding the bathrobe over the back of the chair.

Elizabeth snorted, "I'm in bed—what else is there to do?"

There was a knock at their door, "Katie, Lizzie? May I come in?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Lord Brian opened the door and poked his head in, smiling. "Did you take care of everything downstairs?"

"Yes, sir."

Her father nodded, "Good. And what about the prince?"

There was a spluttering sound from the bed as Elizabeth sat up in surprise.

"He'll be coming over tomorrow. Is that all right, Daddy?"

"Yes dear, perfectly all right."

Elizabeth gaped at her sister, "The _prince_ was here?"

"Ah, Lizzie, I see you have decided to remain with us after all." Her father grinned, earning a glare in return.

Elizabeth snorted, "_Please_, Daddy, I'm quite well." She then turned back to her sister, her face determined, "Katie, what is he talking about? Why was the prince here?"

Catherine sighed and looked at her father with an expression that clearly said she wished he had kept his mouth shut.

Lord Brian's eyes twinkled merrily, "Goodnight, you two. Sweet dreams."

"Katie, tell me, wha-." Elizabeth's demands were cut off when her father shut the door.

Chuckling to himself, Lord Brian trotted down the hall and into his own bedroom. His wife was sitting up in bed, reading a book, when he arrived.

"And so, my dear Marie-," he announced cheerfully, closing the door, "-the fair princesses are in bed, the bandit has been defeated by your dashing knight, and now I believe it is time for the most coveted reward in all the kingdom."

Lady Marie smiled, looking up from her book, "What is that, sir knight?"

"Several hours of long needed sleep." Her husband answered, lying comfortably beside her, sliding down so that his head rested on the pillows.

She smiled, gently removing the glasses from his forehead and setting them on her bedside table along with her book. Then Lady Marie used the tassel end of her husband's nightcap to tickle his nose.

"You're going to make me sneeze." He replied calmly, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?"

Lord Brian yawned, "No, I'm too tired."

"Then you're going to sneeze your nose off until you do." Lady Marie replied, continuing to tickle his nose.

He opened one eye to see her smiling triumphantly. With a groan, Lord Brian sat up slightly to indicate his willingness to talk, and his wife desisted with the tassel.

"I now know who the young man is." He said confidently.

Lady Marie frowned, "What young man?"

"The one our daughter has been thinking about."

"George?"

He shook his head, a small grin crossing his face, "Not Lizzie—Katie."

"The prince?" His wife did not look too surprised, but he knew she would not be surprised. After all, Lady Marie and the queen had been corresponding for well over a month now about their children.

"The very same, dear heart. His Highness, Thomas the Giant himself."

"He's not _that_ tall, Brian." She rolled her eyes.

Lord Brian shrugged, "He certainly looked tall when he stood up after I hit him. For a second, I was quite afraid I wouldn't be returning back to you."

"Yes, you brave man, you brained the blessed prince of Corona—while he was running away, no less. Such courage."

"It was the thought of you and our lovely daughters that drove me to it, Marie." He yawned again, adding, "And it was also the thought of Katie that led me to say 'yes' to the prince coming over tomorrow."

"He's coming over?" Lady Marie asked, gazing at her husband in the light of the candle.

"Yes he is."

"So you like him?"

He nodded, "Matter of fact, I do."

"And you'll wash the windows tomorrow?"

"What?" Lord Brian frowned.

She leaned over to blow out the candle, responding, "You have to wash them sometime, dear. Why not tomorrow? Maybe, if you ask politely enough, Thomas will help you."

In the dark, a slow smile spread across her husband's face.

"Perhaps he will."


	8. A morning of waiting

**Author Note**: So... I'm sorry for taking so long... and for this being part 1 of 2 in terms of story (it's part of the day, and I'm still working on the other part) Life's been busy and I also have other personal projects I'm working on... but I do want to keep this up if I can because I REALLY love these characters :D and because you guys have been great in reading this stuff :D so thank you very much for your patience, your kind reviews, for reading it in the first place, and for faving! :D you guys are great! Happy Sunday and for those who live in the USA, Happy Fourth of July! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Thomas awoke early the next morning, a smile on his face. For a moment, he could not quite remember what was making him so happy. Then the injuries he had received the night before began to throb with a dull pain, and suddenly memories flooded back in full color and sound. He had muddled his way through Lord Brian's garden, been smacked in the head by a dictionary, and been taken care of by Catherine, whom he now had permission to call 'Cat'. And he was going to see her again today, as a friend.

Somehow, despite the dark bruise by his right eye and the scrapes on his arms and legs, the prince of Corona had a very wide grin on his face when he went to brush his teeth. Even his cousin, in the midst of struggling with his bed sheets and nearly falling off the couch in the process, could see Thomas's happiness immediately. Frederick gave one more violent wiggle, let out a yelp when he really _did_ fall off the couch, and sprang up to begin interrogating his cousin on last night's events. Of course, he had already pelted the man with questions upon his late return, looking as though he had lost a fight with a rosebush. But Thomas had refused to answer him then. Today, however, was a new day. Frederick intended to make the most of it and get a straight explanation before breakfast.

"So Goliath-," Frederick began as casually as he possibly could, sidling in to stand next to his cousin, "-how are you this morning?"

Thomas removed his toothbrush from his mouth and spat noisily into the sink. Replacing the brush, he replied unhelpfully, "'m gook."

Frederick made a face as his cousin once more decided to expel the contents of his mouth into the sink. Then of course the man had to gargle and rinse, _repeatedly_.

Frederick involuntarily let out a faint 'ewh' noise and quickly handed Thomas a towel, remarking, "You know, for a chap with a black eye, you seem awfully happy."

Thomas mopped at his face, shrugging, "Technically, it's not a 'black eye'. It's just a little bruising and-," he pulled back the towel, examining his reflection in the mirror. He smiled slightly, "It's starting to go down."

"Yes but _where_ did you get it? When you left that party to go be hero to Kitty-cat's damsel in distress, you had no injuries whatsoever. Then you come back here, hours late, stumbling in with such grievous wounds and-."

"Freddy, I already told you that I'm _not_ going to tell you what happened. It's none of your business, so stop asking." Thomas replied sternly, opening the small shaving kit sitting on the counter and pulling out a comb.

"But what-?"

"No."

"Golia-."

"_No_, Freddy."

Frederick groaned and elbowed his cousin out of the way, muttering, "Need to brush me darling choppers too, Goliath."

"Be my guest." The prince stepped out of the way and, keeping an eye on the mirror, began to comb his hair.

The two men finished preparing for the day in a passable silence. Of course, Thomas was humming cheerfully for most of this duration while Frederick growled and sulked in what could be called stony disappointment. It was not until they were both pulling on their boots that the prince's cousin decided to give his questioning another go.

"Okay, Goliath, I know you don't want to tell me anything and I can respect that. But-," Frederick tugged a rather ridiculously patterned sock over his left foot, "-can you at least tell me if Kitty-cat is all right or not? I mean—I care about her too. She's the only gal I know who's laughed at my jokes without slapping me afterwards."

Thomas bent to adjust the buckles on his boot, responding, "She is well. Healthy and well."

Frederick nodded smartly, "All right, I'm glad to hear that. And wot about her family?"

"As far as I could tell, they are also fine."

Frederick pulled on his boots, grunting, "Good. Now, was before or after ensuring that the household was peachy, that you got into a fight with her father?"

"What? No, Freddy, I told you that-." Thomas was suddenly interrupted when his cousin waved his decorative spats irritably in his face.

"Wot you've told me, Goliath, is that you're keeping your trap shut! Wot you've told me is a whole pile of nothing! Well, I'm not having it anymore!" Frederick actually rapped his cousin across the nose with his spats. "I demand to know wot happened, no matter if I'm to be privy to the matter or not! You are my cousin _and_ my best mate and I want to know why you were clonked in the peeper! I want to know why you've got scratches all over! I want to know why you-!"

"Okay!" Thomas's response made the windows rattle. Frederick was so surprised he dropped his spats, watching as the tall prince rose to his feet.

Thomas rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, clearing his throat and trying to come up with a good explanation for last night's occurrences. Eventually, he turned to address his cousin.

"Freddy."

"Yes, Goliath?" Frederick asked as he retrieved his spats.

Thomas looked him straight in the eyes, saying, "I am going to tell you what happened last night, and it will be told in the shortest way possible, understood?"

"Right."

"And you are not to ask questions, understood?"

He nodded, slapping his spats impatiently on his knee.

Thomas coughed, "Very well. What happened was that I borrowed one of Lord Clayton's horses and rode down to Cat's house. I was mistaken for a bandit, got smacked in the head with a dictionary courtesy of her father, was taken care of by the dear girl herself, and now Cat and I are friends."

Frederick frowned, "I thought you already were fri-?"

"Freddy, no questions."

"Oh right—sorry."

"Thank you. And now-," Thomas turned to the door of his bedroom, "-I am going down to breakfast."

"And?" His cousin looked up from where he had been strapping on his spats.

"I hope the chef made waffles."

* * *

There was a bit of a surprise awaiting the two men when they reached the dinning room. The queen was sitting at the table, enjoying her breakfast of waffles and strawberries. Normally, the queen and her husband had a late breakfast rather than rising early like their son and nephew did. Today, however, the royal mother sat calmly in her chair, taking delicate nibbles of waffle and reading a report her husband had neglected to take care of the night before.

Frederick, unfortunately, did not see his aunt until it was too late.

"Seriously, Goliath, you're not going to-?"

"Good morning, Freddy dear." The queen said, smiling as her rather annoyed son took his chair.

"Morning, Auntie." Frederick replied distractedly before turning back to his cousin. "You're going to work all morning instead of—of…" Frederick turned to see his aunt smirking triumphantly at him.

"Oh… Auntie Caroline, I didn't—I'm not—not here and-." He broke off, puzzled by the amused expression on his aunt's face.

The queen laughed, "You _do_ realize that you've been hiding for several weeks without reason, don't you?"

"Ma'am?" Frederick asked weakly, not noticing that his cousin received a plate full of waffles from the waiter.

"You were supposed to be here the Thursday _after_ that whole matchmaking affair. Your mother wrote to make sure you had arrived."

Her nephew frowned, murmuring, "Oh."

The queen nodded and gave her glass to the waiter to refill, replying, "Naturally, I knew you were here already. But then Thursday came along and you did not make an appearance. Dear, I'm afraid that you forgot the arrival date."

"I—I must have."

"Where have you been sleeping these past few weeks, Freddy?" The queen asked, nodding to the waiter to bring her nephew his breakfast.

"On my couch." Thomas said gruffly, cutting a generous hunk of waffle out and sticking it into his mouth.

His mother smiled, "Did you not realize it either, Tommy dear?"

"To be perfectly honest, Mother, I did not. I forgot he was supposed to be here." He grinned at his befuddled cousin, "But at least he's managed to stay out of the way all this time."

Frederick's eyes narrowed, and he started to retort angrily, "Goliath, why you-!"

The queen set a placating hand over her nephew's arm, saying, "Not now, Freddy dear. Just eat your breakfast and I can arrange to have your luggage moved to the room across from Tommy's. Oh, and you'll have to write a letter to your mother explaining where you've been all this time."

Frederick's face turned pale, "Mum doesn't know I've been here? But she sent me and-."

"Apparently not, dear. Just try to be polite and hopefully she won't come here to carry you back in a handbag." Just then, the queen noticed the injury on her son's face. Her eyes widened, "Tommy! What happened to your-?"

"I went over to Cat's house last night, got in a tussle with her father because he thought I was a bandit, apologized, and I'm going back over there later today to spend the afternoon with Cat."

Out of all the responses her son could have given her, this rapt, easily said answer was not what the queen expected. For a long span of seconds, she merely watched her son eat his breakfast in silence. Then she nodded slightly.

"All—all right, dear. As long as you're okay."

"I'm brilliant, Mother." Thomas said, taking another bite out of his waffles.

The queen continued to stare at her son, amazed at what he had said. Thomas was not—never before had he done something like that. Of course, she had known of her son's interaction with Catherine as related through the letters Lady Marie had sent her. She had known that the girl had captured his attention like none other had. But the very fact that Thomas was planning on spending time with her… oh yes, something was happening all right. Something big.

The prince finished his meal, kissed his mother on the cheek, and went off to his office to start on the reports he had been ignoring lately. Frederick, stunned at the idea that he had been hiding for no reason for the past several weeks, followed his cousin some moments later, mumbling about the letter to his mother.

"The morning mail, your Majesty." A pageboy deposited several envelopes onto the table beside the queen's plate. He bowed and exited, leaving her to shuffle through the letters.

Then she found one in Lady Marie's handwriting.

Carefully opening the letter, the queen muttered, "Now to get some _real_ answers."

* * *

Catherine removed another plate from the dinning room table and added it to the growing stack in her arms. She looked over to Georgiana, whom was the only person still sitting at the table, and saw that she was moodily poking at her food.

"Georgiana dear, please hurry up and finish eating your lunch. We need to do the dishes."

"But I don't _like_ carrots." The little girl moaned, resting her head upon the table to gaze despondently at the tiny slices of cooked vegetable on her plate.

Catherine sighed and set the dishes back onto the table, wiping her hands on the apron at her waist.

She came over to her sister and soothingly brushed back her hair, whispering, "I know you don't like carrots. But Mother said you had to eat everything before you could go play." Catherine smiled, asking, "Do you want to go play?"

Georgiana peered up at her through the slit between her eyelids, replying sourly, "Yes."

"Then finish eating, dear." Catherine patted her on the back and returned to her task, picking up the dishes once more.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Georgiana prodding at the carrots with her fork as if they were supposed to do something. Catherine sighed and entered the kitchen, setting the plates down onto the table.

Her mother was at the sink, washing dishes, and Elizabeth stood beside her with a waiting towel to dry them. Lady Marie looked up at the sound of clacking plates to see her second eldest piling the dishes into neat stacks organized by type. Saucers there, bowls there, big plates here and so on. She smiled and turned back to the sink to plunge her hands into the hot, sudsy water.

"Georgiana still complaining about the carrots?" Lady Marie asked, handing a recently-scrubbed plate to Elizabeth.

Catherine nodded as she carefully scraped lunch remains into the rubbish bin. "Yes ma'am. She seems to think they're going to bite her nose off or something."

Her mother shook her head, "Silly girl. She's never been this picky before. I wonder what has gotten into her?"

"Probably Katie's cooking." Elizabeth remarked teasingly, flashing her sister a quick grin.

"Stop teasing her, Lizzie. You know your sister's one of the finest cooks in the household. After all-," Lady Marie gave her daughter another dish, raising her eyebrows, "-_I_ was her teacher."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, responding, "Yes, and you learned from Grandmother who learned from Great-Granny who learned from the Queen of Cooking herself. I just don't see how, with such a lineage, I'm so miserably awful at the task."

"Maybe it was because you spent most of your childhood sticking your tongue out at General Josiah's nephews while I stood at Mother's side in the kitchen." Catherine smirked, tossing the remains of someone's boiled potatoes into the trash.

"For your information, those boys were sticking their tongues out at me _first_."

"And yet you still giggled like a little girl when George did the exact same thing a few days ago." Lady Marie said calmly, drying her hands on her apron and turning to face her daughters.

Elizabeth managed to look sheepish and continued to wipe the plate she was holding—despite the fact that its surface lacked moisture.

Catherine nodded to the sink, "Do you want me to finish the dishes, Mother?"

Her mother smiled, "Yes, Katie dear, that would be wonderful. Lizzie, make sure that you're ready to leave in another hour. We have a lot to do today and we can't keep the duke's son waiting."

"Yes, Mother." Elizabeth replied as Lady Marie exited the kitchen.

"So you are going out today with George?" Catherine asked, moving over to the counter with an armful of dirty plates.

"For most of the afternoon. We've got a few contracts and orders to check up on before the wedding. Then Mother and I are going to that dress shop downtown."

Her sister frowned and passed her a dish to dry, "What exactly are you doing at the dress shop anyway? I thought that nice seamstress we met in Dean was doing your dress."

"She is." Elizabeth replied simply.

"Then wha-," Catherine's eyes suddenly widened, and she stared at her sister in horror, "-"-no! No, you cannot possibly be thinking—_no_!"

"What?"

"No, _don't_ tell me you're thinking of those horrible bridesmaid gowns."

"Which ones?"

"The ones that look like they could be costumes for Antonio's showgirls. The ones that I most certainly refuse to walk down the aisle in." She declared firmly, handing her the plate and selecting the next one from her pile.

Elizabeth snorted, "Not _those_ dresses. Really, Katie, I was only joking when I told you about those."

"Thank goodness." Catherine breathed a sigh of relief.

Her sister shook her head, setting the dried plate onto the rack, "There's actually another style I think would compliment all of you quite well. I'll have to get you to try it on before we really commit, but Mother wants to have a look at them anyway."

"I trust Mother. I don't trust you."

Elizabeth sighed in exasperation, "Katie, this is George's and _my_ wedding. Don't worry. I'll make sure you look fantastic."

"So as to better accent the bride?" Catherine went over to the table to retrieve the stack of saucers now.

Elizabeth tilted her head, "But of course. Why else do you think I want you to be my maid of honor?"

"No one else wanted the job?" Catherine suggested, smirking.

"Oh, very funny." Her sister replied sarcastically.

She laughed as she doused a small saucer, "I'm sorry, Lizzie dear. I'm actually quite pleased to be your maid of honor."

"Well, you are my best friend. And, if someone's going to be honorable on that day it should be you because you _know_ it's not going to be me." Elizabeth grinned mischievously, her eyes glinting.

"As long as you're a 'blushing bride' before the ceremony, you can be whatever you want to be afterwards."

Elizabeth arched her eyebrow dangerously, musing, "'_Whatever_ I want to be'? That gives me a lot of options."

"All of which I'm sure George will appreciate." Catherine replied, giving her the saucer to wipe down.

"Do you think-?"

"I don't want to hear it, Lizzie." She rinsed another saucer with the hot water and began to scour its surface.

Her sister shrugged, "Very well. But to be perfectly honest, I'm a little disappointed that George is coming to the capital today."

"You've been moaning about missing George all week—at least you have been when you haven't been moaning about your 'fever'." Catherine added airquotes around her description of her sister's recent ailment.

Elizabeth chose to ignore this, however. She had something else on her mind. And that something else happened to be the prince of Corona who apparently wanted to be her sister's friend. Elizabeth, already liking the prince anyway, had grown rather fond of the idea. Besides, where there was a healthy friendship, feelings stronger than 'companionable affection' tended to blossom.

Not to mention, George liked the man, and that was reason enough.

"Oh, I could see George tomorrow. But it's not every day that the prince decides to visit your father's house twice in the same week."

Catherine nodded and retrieved more dishes from the table. "So you're going to pout because you can't spy on the poor man?"

"No, I'm going to pout because I can't spy on _you_ and the poor man."

Her sister did not respond, choosing instead to pretend she had not heard the answer.

"What are you two going to do all afternoon?" Elizabeth asked finally, deciding that her most successful method would be the direct approach.

Catherine gave a small jerk of her head, muttering, "Talking, I suppose."

"You can't just _talk_ to the man who's been hit on the head by our father and trampled the roses. Not to mention-," Elizabeth took the dish and dried it carefully, adding, "-he _is_ the prince."

"He may very well be the prince but he is also my friend. And I don't really know what exactly we'll be doing all afternoon. But, Lizzie, today is just a day to get to know each other—that's all." She shrugged and smiled slightly, "And who knows? Maybe he'll discover that I'm someone he wants nothing to do with and we'll just forget about the whole thing."

Her sister shook her head, "_You_ won't forget about it. You're thinking about him now."

"_Of course_, I'm thinking about him now. We're talking about him now."

"Are you nervous?"

"Nervous about what?" Catherine scrubbed hard at the bowl in her hand, water splashing out onto the counter.

"Why, about seeing him, naturally."

She smiled again, and it was a smile her sister recognized. And she recognized it because Catherine always seemed to be wearing it whenever she spoke about the prince.

"I'm not nervous, Lizzie. I'm excited. After all-," Catherine gave her the washed bowl, "-I've never been friends with a man like Tommy before. I think it will be a lot of fun."

"_Tommy_." Elizabeth repeated, smirking. "You do know his mother calls him that, don't you?"

"I know."

"Then why are _you_ calling him that?"

She shrugged, responding, "Because I told him that he could call me 'Cat', and he told me I could call him whatever I want."

* * *

Almost a full hour later, Catherine knelt on the floor of Jane and Emma's room, giving them an impromptu sewing lesson. Today's lesson was a result of Jane accidentally treading on the loose hem of Emma's dress, causing a tear. Emma, who rather liked her green dress, immediately sought her elder sister's assistance.

Catherine set her sewing kit down on the carpet, looking sternly at her sisters, "You two need to be more careful."

"Jane was the one who ripped it." Emma retorted, standing stock-still as Catherine examined the long tear.

"I'm sorry-," Jane mumbled from where she sat on the floor, hugging her knees. "I know it's my fault and-."

Catherine shook her head, cutting over her apology, "Jane dear, you wouldn't have ripped it if Emma had told me sooner that her hem was out."

Emma frowned, "But then you wouldn't have let me wear it."

"And now you can't wear it because the dress is completely ruined." Catherine sat back on her feet and sighed. "Take it off and put on the one you had yesterday. I can't work on the dress while you're in it."

"But Katie-."

"_Now_, dear. Jane, help your sister with the buttons in the back." Catherine opened her sewing kit and looked through the spools of thread. No green—it must still be in the sitting room downstairs.

She glanced over to where her sisters were quarreling about how the buttons were to be undone. "Hurry up, you two. I'll be back in a minute."

Catherine shut the door on Emma's complaints to Jane and walked downstairs. She entered the sitting room to find her sister and mother still waiting for George.

"Still not here yet?" Catherine asked, shifting some of the pillows on the couch in her effort to locate the missing spool.

Elizabeth glanced at the pocket watch in her hand (it was one she had stolen from George) and shrugged. "He still has five minutes before he's actually supposed to be here."

"Since when has George been so punctual?" Lady Marie asked, watching as her second oldest began to feel along the topmost bookshelves.

"Since I told him that I was." Elizabeth replied smugly.

Catherine laughed, "_You_? You're the reason we're late for church every Sunday."

She sniffed imperiously, "Well I intend to change that, thank you very much. A duke's wife can't afford lateness, after all."

"Katie dear, what are you looking for?" Their mother asked, more so to stem the impending argument brought on by nervousness of the day.

"My green thread. Emma's dress is torn and I want to fix it before Tommy arrives."

"His mother calls him that, you know." Lady Marie reminded softly.

Catherine groaned, "I know she does. Honestly-," she recovered her spool from where it had been hiding among her father's books, "-why does everyone feel the need to tell me that?"

Her mother smiled, replying, "We've never had the prince at our house before, dear. It's an exciting event."

"He came over last night." Her daughter muttered, already making her way back to the hall.

"And hopefully he plans to visit more and more often." Lady Marie said, but Catherine had left the room by that point, and she did not hear her mother's remark.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and gazed at her mother.

"What is it, dear?"

She rested her arm on the back of the couch, tilting her head. "Do you really think the prince is coming over here _just_ to be her friend?"

Lady Marie smiled, "I think that's what he is planning. However, plans are known to go awry."

"You know more than you're telling me, Mother."

"Yes, I do. But that's your sister's business and not yours." She frowned, noticing the watch in Elizabeth's hand. "Where on earth did you get that watch from, dear? Is that your father's?"

"No." Her daughter replied evasively, covering up the crest of the house of Dean.

"Then where-?"

Suddenly, Elizabeth stood up and announced, "I think I hear George's voice—he must be talking with the neighbors. I'll let him in."

Lady Marie sighed and followed Elizabeth over to the front door where her daughter enthusiastically and, it must be said, quite passionately greeted her fiancé.

Meanwhile, Catherine had reached the upstairs hallway. She paused to listen at the door to Allison, Eleanor, and Georgiana's room. There was the noise of things being moved around. Good. The girls were still cleaning. Then she continued on to Emma and Jane's bedroom, entering to find that both girls were on the floor and admiring the contents of her sewing kit.

Catherine glared down at them, crossing her arms. "What exactly are you doing?"

Jane hastily returned the thimbles to their compartment, murmuring, "Sorry, Katie."

Emma, on the other hand, continued to stack spools on top of each other, answering, "I want to see how high I can get without them falling over."

Her older sister rolled her eyes, "Emma, stop it, and go put on your dress. You can't sit around all day in your chemise."

Emma sighed but did as ordered while Catherine took a seat on the floor and began rearranging her sewing kit. Jane brought over the green dress, plopping down next to Catherine to watch as she began to line up the torn fabric.

"Katie, how did you ever learn how to do that so well?" Jane asked, amazed as her sister skillfully threaded a needle and began to work.

"Practice, dear. Having eight sisters helps, though." She smiled at her, "There's a lot of sewing to be done when there are ten ladies in the house."

"Do you think I'll ever be as good as you?"

Catherine continued with making a tidy stitch, replying, "If you work hard and try your best, Jane, you could be better than me one day."

Emma, now fully-clothed, took a seat on the other side of Catherine, beaming. "Can I wear it after you're done, Katie?"

"I have to fix your hem, Emma. That could take longer than I have. Remember that Tommy is to be arriving here soon."

She poked absently at the carpet, asking, "Who is Tommy, anyway? You and Lizzie keep talking about him but we've never met him before."

"Georgiana says he likes the color pink." Jane said conversationally.

Catherine pulled the thread tight, closing part of the rip, "Georgiana only said that because I told her he complimented on her choice of dress-color for her doll. Anyway, dear girls, Tommy is a friend of mine. He's a very good man and he's very important so you are to be respectful to him and-," she gave a meaningful look to Emma, "-don't ask nosy questions."

"I'd only ask the questions Frieta would ask him." Her sister responded defensively.

"I know, dear. That's what I'm afraid of." Catherine muttered, her mind wandering, as it had done so many times this day, to the tall young man who was to be arriving within another hour.

Downstairs, Elizabeth stuck her head into her father's office.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, dear girl?" Lord Brian asked, turning over another page in his logbook and checking its information against the larger record sitting on his desk.

"Daddy-," Elizabeth pouted, "-Daddy, you're not listening."

He nodded, murmuring, "Yes, Katie, I know."

His daughter sighed, "I'm _Lizzie_. Really, Daddy, no wonder Mother deplores of ever getting you to do anything. You're always too busy with your work."

"Hmm."

"Anyway, Mother and George and I are leaving now. Make sure dinner gets started—though Katie will be the one who manages that."

"Mmm-," Lord Brian shook his head, frowning, "-down ten percent. What are those cows doing?"

"Goodbye, Daddy." Elizabeth departed, shaking her head.

"Farewell, my dear." Her father replied, taking a pencil from behind his ear and underlining a section of data in his logbook.

* * *

Thomas turned his horse down another street, glancing at the houses as he rode past. He must have made a wrong turn… but why on earth would he do something like that? He had lived in this city his entire life. Why would he be having trouble locating one single house? For goodness sake—he had found the house last night after a frantic ride in the dark. It was nearing mid-afternoon and the sun was shining brightly. He had no excuse for this.

"Maximilian, you've been there before." Thomas told his horse, slowing him to a trot. "Remember? She was the nice girl with the potato. You can't have forgotten that…"

But, as he glanced around, none of the houses looked remotely familiar. Thomas glared at the road, a wrinkle of annoyance crossing his forehead. He then kicked Maximilian back into a gallop, hoping that the girl did not mind if he arrived later than expected.

That is, of course, assuming that he found Lord Brian's house at all.

"Blast—you would have thought that after spending twenty-two years in this city I'd be able to find my way around. Must be the horse." Thomas muttered, turning down a narrow alleyway.

His horse responded with a grunt, steering slightly to the right. This action, coupled with Thomas's natural height, caused the prince to suffer a few whacks on the head as low-hanging shop signs met his brow. Thomas growled and yanked Maximilian's reins, hissing several choice words into the horse's ear.

"And don't you forget it." He added as they emerged out from the shady street and onto the main thoroughfare.

Maximilian snorted several choice words in horse language, but was prevented from retaliating further when a rather attractive mare walked past, a nobleman on her back. Thomas had to forcibly turn his horse's head back towards the road.

"Let me see—Main Street takes you to-," the prince squinted at the nearby signpost, "-ah. We were going to far left. Right, Maximilian. And-," once again, he pulled the rein firmly to the right, "-stop looking at that mare."

Maximilian snorted at him again, but continued to follow his master's lead up a ramp and into the neighborhoods of common people. All roads in the capital were connected—so as long as he kept going upward, he should reach Lord Brian's neighborhood eventually.

"And where her father is, so must Cat be." Thomas said to himself, glancing off to the left to see the ocean glimmering beyond the rooftops.

Today would have been a good day to go fishing. Sunshiny, hot but with a deliciously-smelling sea breeze blowing coolly across the island. The call of the wind seemed to beckon him. Just forget about the girl—come to the sea. Forget about your duties and cares—come and sail across the deep to mysterious lands of adventure and excitement. Come and fish to your heart's content. What did it matter, really, if she was waiting for you?

A faint smile crossed the prince's face at the thought. She _was_ waiting for him. After waiting for her arrival at parties for so many weeks, their roles had finally been reversed. Somehow, the idea of Catherine sitting impatiently at the window drove all thoughts of fishing out of his mind. He spurred Maximilian into a faster gallop.

Passing by the last of the common people houses, the prince took another incline into a set of neighborhoods he recognized. Why—there was Lord Clayton's oversized, gaudy mansion just three houses over! And that meant that Catherine's home lay about seventeen blocks to the left…

"So right _was_ wrong." Thomas panted, turning his horse around. "Really, Maximilian, you could've told me."

The horse snorted again, and his rider frowned, "Watch your language. We're going to see a lady, Maximilian. Leave your stable-talk for the _stables_."

There was an irritated clacking of teeth as Maximilian adjusted the bit in his mouth. Thomas rolled his eyes, "No, I don't care what you or anyone else says. Why else do you think I tricked Freddy into staying behind?"

He chuckled slightly, wondering if Frederick had managed to get out of the wardrobe yet. Ferdinand had probably heard the banging and shouting by now and had gone to release the man. But, since his cousin did not know where Lord Brian lived, Thomas did not fear any interruption from him. As a precaution, he had also instructed the stable hands to give Frederick the bad horse should he ask for one. Hopefully it would not come to that, but the prince did not want to take any chances. After all, today was an important day.

Today, he was going to see Catherine.

* * *

Lord Brian's house seemed strangely quiet as he walked up the path, the spurs on his riding boots clinking against the stones. Thomas looked back at the nearly empty street where he had tied Maximilian up at the post on the sidewalk. His horse gave him a slightly annoyed look and sulkily turned his head away. Other than that, however, there was no movement on the street.

Yet Thomas could not help but feel he was being watched. He ascended the porch steps carefully, looking from side to side as well as casting a glance upward to check that the bird nest was still above in the eaves. Then he took a deep breath and stretched out his hand, knocking his knuckles firmly on the door.

A few moments passed and then the door opened.

Thomas stared down at the upturned, curious face of Lord Brian. For a few seconds, it seemed that neither man knew what to say. But then the lord smiled and made a slight bow.

"Good afternoon, your Highness."

The prince cleared his throat and also bowed, replying hastily, "A very good afternoon to you as well, sir."

There was a very pregnant pause.

Lord Brian frowned and asked, "Um, why are you here, exactly?"

"To—to see Cat." Thomas answered quickly, a sudden panic striking his brain. Did her father not know? Perhaps she did not really mean that he could come over, after all. Perhaps she was just kidding—just joking—but there had been no jest in her voice… Why would Lord Brian not know?

However, to his immense relief, the man's eyes suddenly widened behind his round spectacles. "Oh yes! I remember Katie telling me something about this! I'm sorry, my boy-," Lord Brian grinned slightly, "-I've been buried in logbooks and accounts all day. Forgive my lapse of memory. But-," and then, to Thomas's bewilderment, he frowned again, "-I believe Katie left with her sister and mother almost an hour ago. They were going downtown for an shopping excursion and she—well, she's not here."

A few seconds passed before Thomas could manage, "Oh… um. Well—I should be—I guess I should—are you sure she's not? Of course, you would know—you _are_ her father and-."

Lord Brian watched as the prince continued to flounder with words, trying to form a comprehensible response. Then he noticed how tall Thomas was, and an idea that had been growing in his mind since early that morning burst into an almost blinding clarity.

Lord Brian shook his head, interrupting the young man, "No, your Highness. You can wait for her. I'm sure it will only be a few moments, um—is that your horse over there? Here, I'll go put him in the stables and you—you go ahead and go inside." He glanced down at Thomas's boots and suggested, "Why don't you take your spurs off before going inside? My wife doesn't like how they scratch the floors or tear up the carpet."

"Of course." Thomas replied weakly, taking a seat on the low bench beside the door as Lord Brian walked past towards the street.

Thomas undid the spurs, sliding the straps out of their buckles while inside his brain, the rush of panic slowed slightly. But _only_ slightly.

How could she not be here? Shopping? But—but she had asked and… had she forgot? Or maybe—had her sister forced her into it? But really, how long could a short trip down the market take? An hour at the most. Catherine would be back soon. She would be back soon.

Just then, the footsteps of Lord Brian alerted him to the man's return. Thomas stood up, uncertain on what to say.

"Leave your spurs on the bench, Thomas. No one will disturb them and you can pick them up on your way out. Now, please, come in."

The tall prince followed Lord Brian into the house, gazing about the front hall. There was a staircase to his right, as well as another room that seemed to be the kind of parlor most noblemen had but never bothered to use. To the left lay the sitting room, and beyond the hall was another corridor that obviously led to the rest of the downstairs.

Thomas stood, admiring the artwork in the front hall and breathing in a multi-faceted aroma of books, recently prepared bread, and clean fabric. Unlike the homes of many of the noblemen he had visited before, Lord Brian's house had a comfortable, lived-in feel to it. There were not priceless artifacts waiting to be knocked over and the walls quite lacked memorabilia of an aristocratic heritage—including the required family tree to show how many famous people you had for ancestors. Nor were any servants waiting to take his coat (a rarity among those who could afford hired help).

But there _was_ the warm sense of many lives being lived. The sense of breathing, growing souls that learned and succeeded and failed only to succeed again. And it was such a beautiful, undeniably amazing feeling that Thomas did not realize Lord Brian had entered the sitting room until the man actually called him.

"Thomas-," Lord Brian stuck his head out from the room and waved at him, "-in here."

Thomas obeyed and went into the chamber, taking a seat down on the couch. His eyes immediately went to the two, very-full bookcases bordering the empty fireplace. Seeing books in a nobleman's house made sense, especially considering what he knew of Catherine and her father's fondness for the objects. But while many books _were_ sitting upon the shelves, so were a lot of other things.

The higher shelves held trinkets that clearly belonged to Lady Marie being pink, frilly, and otherwise quite feminine. Lower down, wedged between books on philosophy and law, were seashells, a hairbrush and set of ribbons, something that looked mysteriously like a man's pocket watch, some impressive embroidery samples and other pieces of sewing equipment. The bottom shelves were also decorated with two forgotten bonnets, a battered deck of cards, more seashells, a compass that did not point north, and a tiny tea party complete with doll attendants.

Of course, Thomas did not see all these things at once. Rather, he managed to take all this in during the uncomfortable silence that occurred while Lord Brian tried to find his pencil. If he had not been a guest wanting to see the man's daughter, Thomas would have pointed out that the pencil rested behind Lord Brian's ear. But as he was in such a position, the prince wisely remained quiet while the man muttered to himself and shuffled through the logbooks in his armchair.

Successfully locating the pencil at last, Lord Brian sat down in his armchair and smiled at Thomas. "So, dear boy, how are you doing?"

He returned the smile a little uneasily, replying, "Quite fine, sir."

"Good—good." Lord Brian opened one of his logbooks, glancing up. "And, uh, your eye? Please tell me I didn't permanently injure you."

"I can see and it doesn't hurt."

"Looks bad, though."

Thomas shrugged uncomfortably and did not respond.

Lord Brian, deciding to put his plan into action early, nodded to the windows facing the front yard. "You know, I was supposed to get those windows washed."

The prince nodded, wondering why on earth Catherine's father would be talking about windows.

Lord Brian continued, sighing, "Marie has been nagging me to do that for almost an entire month now. I could hire someone, I guess, but they'd never do a good enough job. And, the real shame of it is, I promised I would clean them today but I have been absolutely swamped with work." He grinned, waving at Thomas, "'Course, you'd understand that what with being prince and all. Work, work, work, am I right?"

"Yes sir." Thomas said, rubbing his hands together and staring at the space between his feet.

"Now what you _wouldn't_ understand is the pain a man gets in his back after leaning over a desk all day. You're too young for that—too strong. Me, well, I spend a few hours reading nonsense about cows and I need to get a hot towel. Washing windows at my age and with my back problems is not a fun thought." Lord Brian gestured vaguely, adding, "Especially since I had a rather late night last night. I'm completely worn out and my spine and shoulders are complaining vehemently."

"Yes." Thomas muttered.

Lord Brian cocked his head, a sudden light springing in his eyes that Thomas did not see due to his concentration on the floor. "I've just gotten an idea! How about you?"

"Sir?" Thomas finally turned to look at the man, seeing the beaming smile on his face.

He laughed, "Well, you're young, you've got nothing to do but listen to an old man blather about cows, and I'm sure that-," but then he stopped, shaking his head, "-no. No, I'm sorry. I—I really shouldn't ask. I mean—Katie will scold me and my wife—well, I don't want to know what _she'd_ do."

"Lord Brian, what exactly-?"

"I was just going to ask if you would mind washing the windows. But what am I saying? You're the prince! You probably haven't washed a window in your life." Lord Brian made a self-mocking expression, laughing.

Thomas grinned slightly, "Actually sir, I-."

He shook his head, interrupting, "Nah. Don't worry about it, dear boy. I couldn't ask you to do something like that. I'm the man of this house and I should be the one to wash the windows."

"Well, I don't mind the idea, sir." Thomas said quickly.

Lord Brian smiled, "No—no, I wouldn't. Thank you, though, you are very gracious. You put a whole new spin on the idea 'public servant'."

"Oh—um—you're welcome."

He nodded and returned to his logbooks, flipping the pages of a small green one. Thomas waited several seconds, but the man did not speak again. The prince looked over at the windows, noting the dirt. They really _could_ use a washing.

"So-," Lord Brian suddenly said, turning another page, "-tell me, Thomas, how did you come to know my daughter?"

"Where did you say that window washing equipment was, Lord Brian?" Thomas asked hastily.

"No, Thomas, don't-."

"Sir, please, I insist." He said, already rising to his feet.

Without looking up from his book, Lord Brian answered: "It's outside by the back door and there is a small pump by the vegetable garden. You can start on the windows in my study—that's on the right side of the house if you're standing from the street. Try to get the topmost ones because I can never reach those and Marie always fusses. Oh, and be sure not to run into the clothesline."

Thomas gazed at him.

Behind his logbook, Lord Brian smirked.

* * *

After she had repaired and hemmed the green dress, told her three youngest sisters to finish cleaning their room _again_, and made sure that Emma and Jane had started on their homework, Catherine went downstairs to see if the prince had arrived.

She moved lightly, walking down the last three steps and glancing around the empty hallway. Sighing, Catherine began to debate the possibility that the man had been too busy or, even more nervously, she started to doubt if he had wanted to come at all. The girl walked into the sitting room to find her father reading his records while reclining in his favorite armchair. Her entrance had not alerted him, and he continued to peruse and scowl over the logbooks in peace.

"Daddy, have you heard the door bell ring?"

Lord Brian shook his head, muttering, "No, Ally."

Catherine sighed, "Daddy, I'm Katie. Honestly, someday you will-." She stopped, because her father had suddenly looked up at her in what could possibly be called stunned realization.

"Daddy?" She asked uncertainly.

"I thought you had gone shopping with your sister." Lord Brian said, closing his logbook and straightening in his chair.

His daughter shrugged, "Um, no sir. Lizzie left with Mother and George at least half an hour ago if not longer."

"Oh. Well then, I suppose-."

Catherine, spotting a dark cloth thrown over the back of the couch, rolled her eyes and began to pick it up. "Really, Daddy, how many times does Mother have to tell you not to leave your jacket around?"

"More than I can count." Lord Brian replied faintly as his daughter began to fold up the coat.

Catherine frowned, suddenly realizing that the jacket was of a finer material than what her father normally wore. It was also several sizes too big—and the embroidery lining the collar—why, her father had never had custom stitching done like that! It also smelled… familiar.

"Daddy-," Catherine glanced at her father, her face puzzled, "-Daddy, where's Tommy?"

Her father jerked his head towards the back of the house, prompting, "Check my office, dear."

"Why didn't you tell me he was here?" She asked, dropping the now neatly-folded jacket back onto the couch and going quickly into the hall.

"Because I didn't know _you_ were here." Lord Brian answered, wondering if he could leave the house fast enough to avoid the inevitable reprimand from his daughter.


	9. Windows and princes

**Author Note**: First of all, I AM SO SORRY about the late posting... :( I feel really bad about it, but life and simple writer's block gets in the way all the time... and now college starts back next week so posting will be even more of a hassle. That is why I'm sad to say that I will be suspending posting on this story for a while-I want to focus on Family Life for the majority of the time and after I get through a few more chapters of that and then I'll post on this one... needless to say, I hope you guys enjoy it and I can't wait to return again! :D God bless you all and whatever you're going to do for school/work this fall :D Thanks for waiting, reading, reviewing, and faving! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Catherine, finding the door of her father's office ajar, walked into the room. The first thing she noticed was that the room seemed much brighter than normal. Then, as she looked around in confusion, her bare feet padding lightly across the sun-warmed carpet, a shadow passed over her.

The girl glanced up and gasped, hurrying over to the large windows behind her father's desk. Pushing aside the chair, she unhooked the latch of the left window to open it. Then she leaned out the window to gaze at the man currently scrubbing vigorously at the glass to her right.

Thomas was standing upon the grassy space between Lord Brian's house and the neighbor's hedge. He still wore his vest, but his collar was unbuttoned, his shirtsleeves also unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, and a firm line of concentration creased his forehead. He squinted in the light of the sun as it reflected off the windows he had just finished washing. Water drops were already evident on his front while a few bubbles lingered in his beard.

Despite this and the strong summer heat, however, he seemed quite content. He hummed as he worked, stooping every so often to re-soap his washcloth with suds from the dented bucket at his feet. He also seemed quite preoccupied with his task, for he had not noticed the window being opened, nor did he see the girl staring at him in shock and confusion.

"What on earth are you _doing_?" Catherine demanded incredulously, startling the prince so much that he dropped his washcloth.

Thomas hurriedly knelt to retrieve his rag, fumbling in the grass for the tool as he looked up at the girl. He continued to search blindly with one hand, saying quickly, "I thought—I thought you were at the market."

"Well, I'm not." She frowned at his failed attempts and pointed behind him, "It's by your bucket."

"Oh—right." Thomas grinned sheepishly and grabbed his washcloth, rising to his feet once more. He twisted the towel in his nervous hands, muttering, "Um, good afternoon, Cat."

"Did my father ask you to—did he really actually think-?" Catherine did not bother to finish the question, her green eyes narrowing testily.

Thomas shrugged, admitting, "He might've—might've said something to that affect. But really, he thought you weren't-."

"I'll be back." She hissed, withdrawing indoors and leaving the prince to resume his chore.

Catherine practically dashed to the sitting room, quite prepared to give her father a thorough scolding. She could not believe it. Her father—her Daddy—the best man in the world and he—he actually asked the prince… No, _bullied_ him, most like it. Her father probably bullied the poor man into it. Oh, when she saw him he was so-.

Catherine stopped once she reached the sitting room, looking at a disappointingly vacant armchair. It was not entirely empty, however. There was a neat stack of logbooks and a note resting on the top volume.

Fuming, Catherine snatched up the note and read aloud: "'Gone to fetch milk—might take a long time. Your mother said to start making dinner within two hours. Sorry about Thomas, he doesn't actually have to wash the windows. Your loving father.'"

She rolled her eyes, crumpling up the note and snorting. "Fetch _milk_? For goodness sake, Daddy, you're a milk lord! But at least you're not going to make him wash every window in the house." Shaking her head, Catherine returned to the office only to find that Thomas had nearly finished cleaning the top pane of the second window.

"Tommy, listen, you don't actually have to-."

"'Course I do." He interrupted, running a tough wipe across the glass. "I told your father I would."

Catherine sighed, sitting on the window ledge which was, thankfully, wide enough to perch on comfortably. She glared at him, folding her arms crossly.

Thomas frowned, "What's wrong?"

"You're not supposed to be washing windows! For goodness sake, you're the prince of Corona and—and…" She stared at the windows, a mystified expression on her face.

"And?"

Catherine scooted closer to look at the prince's handiwork, murmuring, "Those windows look cleaner today than they have for my entire life. Daddy even hired a professional once but this—this is amazing."

"Well, practice makes perfect, as the old saying goes." Thomas replied, bending down to re-soap his washcloth.

"Practice?"

He nodded, "As punishment for whatever misdeed I happen to commit, both my mother and the head housekeeper often had me and _still_ have me wash every window in the entire palace. Needless to say-," he swept a line of foam across the pane, "-I've had nearly twenty-two years' worth of window washing. Should my throne ever be taken from me, I could probably make a decent living as a window washer."

"You had to wash windows at the palace?"

"Yes, I did."

"That's—that's quite…" she shook her head suddenly, protesting, "Tommy, you don't have to wash the windows! As a matter of fact, I would rather you'd not and-."

"That's something else we need to discuss." Thomas interrupted again, using his knuckles to scrape off some bird droppings.

"Discuss?"

He wrung out his rag, explaining, "Yes, my name—the one you seem to want to use for me."

"'Tommy'?"

"That's the one." He nodded, slapping the window with his washcloth and sending out flecks of foam.

Catherine frowned, "What's wrong with it?"

"My mother calls me that."

"I know." She responded simply.

Thomas finished wiping the next pane of glass, turning to look at her. "Then why are _you_ calling me that?"

"It fits you."

He sighed, giving her such a mournful look that a smile crept across her lips.

"Well it _does_." Catherine replied, half-defensive, half-amused.

"You're not going to change your mind about it, are you?"

She shrugged, "If you really want me to, I will."

Thomas laughed and returned to the window, "You're just waiting for my opinion?"

"It's your name—your opinion is the only one that matters."

"Very well-," he tossed his head slightly, grinning, "-call me whatever you want."

Catherine smiled, "Okay, _Tommy_. But seriously, you don't have to wash these windows. Mother has been haranguing Daddy to do them for ages and he's just slinking out of work again."

"Your father said that he has already been working all day. He also said that his back has been hurting him _and_ he had a late night courtesy of myself. I can't refuse the man when he asks me to do something for him."

Catherine pursed her lips, "His back has been hurting him?"

"Yes."

"Funny—that didn't stop him from giving Georgiana a piggy-back ride to breakfast this morning."

He gave her a rueful, sideways glance. She smirked.

"I've been successfully conned." Thomas remarked quietly, mopping away a line of bubbles.

She nodded slightly, assenting, "In a way. He did say you don't have to keep this up, however."

"And what if I said I wanted to do it anyway?"

"Then I would not be surprised. You are too honest of a man for your own good." Catherine smiled, immediately seeing the softest hint of pride in the way the prince threw back his shoulders.

"I'll be honest for other people's good, then." He promised heroically.

"I'm sure you will."

Thomas arched an eyebrow at her, "Was that sarcasm? Doubt?"

"_No_." Catherine replied. "Though it might turn into that if you keep asking such questions."

"So am I to be silent while I scrub these windows clean?"

"Not necessarily. But, Tommy, you _are_ getting water all over your vest." Catherine pointed out, wincing as another splash struck the expensive fabric.

"Does that bother you?"

"Well, it's a very nice vest." She said uncertainly.

He nodded, setting down his washcloth and bringing his hands up to unbutton his vest. He smiled as he undid the buttons, commenting, "My mother would be thanking you."

The girl smiled, "Well, I _am_ keeping her son from ruining some of his best clothes."

"Right-," he frowned, pulling off his vest and glancing around, "-and now I don't know where to put this."

"I'll take it." Catherine held out her arms and, after a moment's hesitation, Thomas gave her his vest.

Then he returned back to work, bending down to get his washcloth. Catherine watched him, absently folding the vest she had been given. He appeared much more relaxed, now that he was working in just a dress shirt, breeches and boots. His hair stirred in a gentle wind, and—she could not help but notice—the muscles in his arms and hands flexed appealingly as he continued to labor on. He was a very strong individual, and she wondered how he had gotten to be so. Part of it probably came from genetics, but the other part stemmed from whatever exercise routine the prince had in the ways of military training. All princes of Corona had to undergo some form of military instruction. It was law as much as it was tradition.

And apparently (Catherine watched as he tightened his arm) Thomas was benefitting from the exercise.

Feeling her eyes upon him, the man paused to glance at her. A small smile ran across his face, cheerfully lifting the ends of his mustache.

"Do you always do that?" Thomas asked, moving over to the remaining window—Lord Brian's office had one large window made up of three smaller ones.

Catherine shook her head distractedly, "Do what?"

He nodded at the vest on her lap, "Fold whatever you get your hands on."

"Oh-," she looked at the vest in mild surprise, "-I'm sorry. It's just a habit."

Thomas's smirk widened as he began to wash the last window, "Habitual folding—that's something I haven't heard before."

The girl snorted, "For your information, it's a defense mechanism. Living in a house with eight sisters, and only three of them knowing how to fold properly—we'd be drowning in our own clean, unfolded laundry."

"That would be a terrible fate, wouldn't it?" He chuckled, evidently finding the idea funny.

"Oh, stop laughing."

"I can't."

She rolled her eyes, "Yes you can, just-."

A sudden voice from inside the house yelled: "Katie! Katie, where are you?"

"One of your sisters?" Thomas asked interestedly.

Catherine nodded, already slipping off the window ledge. "Yes—that would be Elly."

"Katie!"

She glanced at him, and Thomas jerked his head to the source of the voice, "Go. She needs you."

Catherine smiled and disappeared once more into the house.

Thomas soaked his washcloth with more soap and water, rubbing away at the grime that had accumulated on the study window. His ears alerted him to a flock of sea gulls flying overhead, as well as a carriage rolling past in the street. The sun was warm upon his back, but not too warm, and the air smelled fresh and healthy. It felt inexplicably good to be alive, for some reason.

Then, as he started on the next row of windowpanes, the prince began to hear snatches of a conversation that was going on behind him.

* * *

"I say, dear Edna, it looks like Lord Brian has gotten himself a window washer." Edith Marigold commented to her sister as they took their afternoon tea in Edna's back garden.

Edna stirred a sugar cube around her teacup, her eyes widening as she exclaimed: "Not just _any_ window washer, Edith dear! That's the prince!"

"The prince?" Her sister leaned forward over the small garden table to see. "Why, yes it is, Edna!"

"I told you it was." She retorted, slightly annoyed at her sister's disbelief.

Edith smiled and took a sip of her tea, "Why do you think Lord Brian has the dear man washing his windows, then?"

"Probably as a punishment for whatever he did last night. Oh, look, he's rather tall, isn't he?"

"And good-looking." Edith added happily.

Edna sighed, "Dear, all you can see is the back of his head. How do you know if he's the least bit handsome?"

"His picture is on the postage stamps you bought yesterday. And anyway, how can he not be handsome? He is _our_ prince after all. Corona's a beautiful kingdom—she's bound to have a beautiful prince." Her sister declared smugly.

"Well, good-looking or not, the man certainly knows how to wash his windows. I can even see my reflection in them."

Edith squinted at the windows, "You _can_ see our reflections! How magnificent! Do you think I could convince the dear prince to do my windows?"

"You probably couldn't convince the dear prince to do anything." Edna replied, taking a sniffy gulp of her tea.

"How do you know, Edna dear? Anyway, the windows of _your_ house are clean. Why shouldn't my windows be clean as well?"

"Because the last thing you need to do is steal the prince away from Lord Brian's house. He does have _nine_ daughters, you know."

Edith nodded, pointing out, "Yes, but little Lizzie is getting married to a duke's son."

"Leaving eight girls to account for." Her sister responded.

"Hmm—and I suppose I'm not the marrying age anymore, am I?" Edith asked despairingly. Then she smiled, "Oh well. At least I can appreciate a good sight when I see one."

Edna smirked in agreement, replying, "Yes. It _is_ a nice change from seeing Lord Brian puttering about his garden. The prince is much more impressive."

Her sister laughed, musing, "Do you think he can hear us?"

"Your voice _does_ tend to carry, Edith dear."

"Oh well, at least he has something else to do than just washing windows."

* * *

A few minutes later, Catherine returned to her father's office window carrying a glass of lemonade. Thomas, having completely finished washing the glass, had stepped back slightly to admire its sparkle. He smiled at her arrival and nodded to the window.

"What do you think, Cat? Will your father approve?"

Catherine grinned, "As long as he didn't have to do it, I think Daddy will approve of any amount of window washing. The person you have to _really_ please is my mother."

"And what would Lady Marie say?" Thomas asked, swinging the washcloth idly in one hand.

"To you, Tommy, she'd express gratitude for doing a job well done. To Daddy, on the other hand…" Catherine sighed.

"I can only imagine how you would have finished that sentence."

She shrugged, "Yes, well, then you understand the amount of trouble my father will be in once Mother realizes he's shirked his duties. Are you thirsty? I brought you something to drink." The girl held up the glass of lemonade.

Thomas accepted the drink with a slight bow, "Thank you."

Catherine watched as he took a long draft from the glass, draining half of its contents. Then her gaze moved away from him and to the ladies sitting in the garden next door. Both Edna and Edith waved cheerily at her before returning to their study of the prince. Catherine smiled as Thomas emptied the glass of lemonade.

She took the glass from him, inclining her head somewhat, "Just so you know, you have an audience."

He nodded, "I've noticed. And I know they're still watching because I can feel their eyes boring into the back of my head."

"Oh, it's not your head they're looking at." Catherine replied meaningfully as she ducked back indoors.

Thomas frowned, "What?"

"See you at the next window, Tommy." She flashed him a quick grin and closed the window, locking it securely.

For a second, the prince attempted to understand what she had just said. Then he picked up his bucket and went to refill it from the garden pump.

He reached the next windows—these belonged to the parlor—to find Catherine had opened the far right one and now leaned out to talk to him. Unlike the windows of her father's office, the parlor windows did not have big enough shelves and she had to content herself with sitting on a chair inside. The girl rested her elbows on the sill, greeting him as he set down his equipment.

Thomas began to scrub at the windows, asking, "What did you mean when you said-?"

"Shhh. Listen."

He moved his washcloth against the glass, obeying her words and allowing the voices of the neighbors reach his ears. His ears grew steadily redder the more he listened.

* * *

"Look at that figure." Edith said in tones loud enough that passersby in the street could hear her. "I must say, I've never saw a royal tush like that in my life."

Edna responded easily, "What are you talking about, Edith dear? You've never seen a royal tush at all."

Her sister raised her eyebrows, "Oh, I haven't, have I? I'll have you know, Edna, that I saw the king's father's youngest brother when he was out at the docks years ago. I was working in that little coffee shop on the wharf, straightening up after hours because the night girl was running late yet _again_. Prince Ryan didn't know he was being watched when he went swimming."

"You watched Prince Ryan go swimming?" Edna asked. She sounded delightfully scandalized.

Edith smiled, "It was late and you can only wipe down tables for so long before it becomes boring. But that's not the best part. See, dear Ryan didn't notice me watching him, but also didn't notice when a group of his more daring pals came along and stole his clothes."

"No!"

"Oh yes! Royalty in the nude—funniest thing I ever saw. You can imagine the poor man's embarrassment when an officer came along to cuff him for 'indecent exposure'."

"And what did you do while the lad stood shivering in naught but his skin?" Edna asked curiously.

Her sister giggled impishly, "I laughed a good deal, naturally. Then I came out and gave him an apron and a cup of coffee just as the officer was arriving."

"What happened then?"

"I managed to convince the officer to drop the charges—and that took a lot of donuts, I don't mind telling you. Afterwards, the prince thanked me by dropping a very stiff bow and left the shop, face red as a beet. And I can tell you that he never went swimming down at the docks again."

Both ladies erupted into gales of gleeful laughter.

* * *

Thomas, staring determinedly at the window he was cleaning, muttered, "Please tell me you didn't hear that."

"Now that would be lying." Catherine said, appreciating how crimson the man's ears had become.

He let out a disgruntled mumble.

She laughed, "Are you feeling the strains of inherited humiliation?"

"Grandfather always said Great-Uncle Ryan was a few nuts short of a fruit cake." Thomas replied uncomfortably, spreading a thick lather over the glass. "Now I know that it's actually true."

"At least the Marigold sisters are giving you compliments." Catherine noted as another observation detailing the remarkable quality of the prince's figure met their ears.

"Yes, and I feel like a side of bacon being admired in the marketplace." Thomas said grumpily. "It's like the matchmaking all over again."

"Somewhat, I suppose. I should tell you, though, that they do this to everyone. It's part of the reason why George absolutely refuses to go outside while he's here."

"I don't blame him."

The girl smiled as he began to scuff off some congealed mud with a rather vicious gleam in his eyes. "And the worst part is that Edith owns that house while Edna owns the house on the other side."

"You're trapped between two thoroughly improper elderly ladies." Thomas informed her.

Catherine shrugged, "They're very kind though. They absolutely adore Georgiana."

"Speaking of whom, how many of your sisters are here today?"

"Six, if you count Lizzie. She's busy shopping with George and Mother—checking on contracts and so on."

"Wedding preparations?" Thomas asked, sudsing his rag again.

She nodded, answering, "Yes. We're all going up to Dean in about two weeks—and then a week later the actual ceremony will be taking place."

"So in little less than a month your sister will be married." He said.

Catherine hesitated a second before responding, glancing over to the side. "Lizzie's happy, and I assume that's only to be expected. In fact, all of my sisters are excited about the whole thing. Frieta and Mary are coming from Livesley—they had to take off from school for the wedding—and George's family and friends are coming from all over the country. Some of them are actually traveling from as far away as Gralt."

"And are you happy about it?"

"Of course I am." But there was a certain inflection in her voice that did not go unnoticed by the prince.

Thomas nodded at her with an air of understanding and asked softly, "Entirely happy?"

Catherine gave a half shrug, responding, "Well, I'll miss her. She _is_ my best friend and she's going to be living almost half a day away. And she'll be married—that will change a lot. But-," she sighed bracingly and smiled, "-I'll have the other girls to take care of and I can write to Lizzie. It will be all right."

The man proceeded to make his way down the window, settling upon his knees to reach the lower row of panes. He flipped his washcloth over his shoulder and began to rub his thumb across a patch of mysterious specks. In between squeaks, he asked, "Do you have any friends around your age?"

"A few. Isobel, she's the daughter of one of the royal accountants. I've known her since I was little. There's also Henrietta and Janette." Then she looked down at him, adding, "And you."

He grinned, turning his face up to the blue sky in thought as he murmured, "I think my mother received an invitation from the duke and duchess of Dean. She and my father might not be able to attend the wedding, but I can. I'll even make Freddy come with me."

"Thank you. Where is Freddy, anyway?"

"I convinced him to stay back at the palace." Thomas replied evasively, not looking at her.

Catherine recognized the expression as one her father had worn before when trying to avoid giving a straight answer to her mother. Her green eyes narrowed. "_Tommy_."

"I already irritated your father once, Cat. I don't want to do it again so soon."

The girl let out a puff of exasperation, shaking her head.

"Now-" Thomas said as if they had mutually chosen a new subject to pursue, "-I've almost finished this window so I'll have to get started on that one before too long. You'll have to move."

"And I suppose you'll want to leave the other to dry in the sun?"

"That was my intention." Clearly he had a method to washing windows.

Catherine smiled, "I have to go check on Emma and Jane anyway. They should be done with their homework by now. They weren't given much."

"Do they go to school in the city?"

"Madam Olivia's School for girls. Madam Olivia taught all of us—and her elder sister runs the academy in Livesley."

Thomas wiped off the last of the grey foam, "Well then, Cat, you have sisters to attend to."

"And you have treacherous clods of dirt to combat." She said, rising from her chair.

He put on a brave face, warning: "If you hear any strangled shouting, don't come out. It'll be too dangerous."

"Mud monsters?"

"Only the worst kind." Thomas promised, winking at her.

* * *

Catherine shut the window and left the parlor laughing. He really was quite mischievous for a man of noble birth. Granted, he was young—but somehow he lacked most of the stupidity that the other younger aristocratic males expressed. Perhaps it had to do with his upbringing? The king and queen did seem, from what little she knew of them, to have a good deal of sense. But the humorous nature in Thomas's personality probably stemmed from years goofing off with his cousin.

She quickly ascended the stairs, stopping by Allison, Eleanor, and Georgiana's room to see what they were doing. All three girls, having finally cleaned their room, were playing in their shared dollhouse. From the sound of it, there was a wedding reception currently being attended.

Catherine knocked on the doorpost, "Are you three doing okay?"

"Yes, Katie." They replied back in unison.

"Do you need anything?"

"Where's Daddy?" Georgiana asked suddenly, turning away from where she had been playing the groom's 'smothering mother'.

"He's gone off on an errand. He'll be back in another hour or so with Mother and Lizzie."

Eleanor set down her groom, looking up at her older sister, "Will George be eating dinner with us?"

Catherine nodded, "Probably. He'll be in the city for a few more days because his father has some business he needs George to take care of."

"I wish he could've stayed over today. We could've played lion-tamer again." Georgiana pouted, folding her arms across her chest.

Catherine smiled, "Maybe you'll be able to find another lion, Georgiana dear."

Suddenly, Emma ran up to stand next to Catherine in the doorway. Before any of the girls could say anything, she asked raptly, "Katie, will you need help with dinner?"

She frowned, "Emma, you're supposed to be finishing your homework."

"I have finished." Emma replied eagerly.

"What about Jane?"

"She's still reading. Katie, will you need help with dinner?" Emma repeated her question, evidently hoping for an answer this time.

Catherine sighed, "Not yet, dear, but I when I do I will call you."

"Okay."

"Now I need to go check on Jane." Catherine walked down the hall to the next bedroom.

Jane was lying upon her bed, her brow furrowed in concentration as she read from one of her schoolbooks. Her mouth moved silently along with the words, and she seemed to be quite immersed in whatever she was reading. A quick glance at the book's cover told Catherine it was a traditional poetry volume, and she smiled.

"Jane dear, are you busy?"

Jane held up one finger with a plea of 'wait' in her eyes. Then, a moment later, she scribbled a few lines into her notebook. Then she closed both books and looked up. "Yes, Katie?"

Catherine sat down on the bed and examined the notebook. She read the topmost sentences, murmuring, "So you favor Captain Elliot's writings?"

Jane shrugged, "Madam Olivia told us to choose the lines that meant the most to us. We're going to recite them in class in a few days."

"These are all about the ocean."

"I like the ocean." Her sister said quietly.

Catherine smiled, "I know you do. And what else would a famous sea captain of Corona talk about if not the ocean?"

"Oh, but he also wrote about his garden back home on the mainland!" Jane started excitedly, flipping open her book once more and showing Catherine the poems. "He really liked flowers and—and tomatoes."

"Well, we all love tomatoes. Even Georgiana will eat those."

Her sister ran a finger over the text in the book, "Do you think Madam Olivia would like the garden ones better?"

"Dear-," Catherine lightly tucked a stray hair behind Jane's ear, "-I think that Madam Olivia would like you to do what _you_ want. Just memorize and recite well, and don't forget to explain what you love about each piece."

Jane smiled, "Thanks, Katie."

"You're welcome. Now, in an hour or so I will be making dinner. You and Emma are the oldest ones here, and I will need some help." Catherine said, rising to her feet.

"All right."

She made her way over to the door, calling back, "Finish up your homework. I'll come and get you when it's time to start."

"Okay." Jane watched as her older sister left the room.

Catherine stopped by the other bedroom again, noticing that Emma was now playing dolls with Allison and Eleanor. Georgiana, however, was not to be seen.

"Girls, where did Georgiana go?"

Emma shrugged, "She went downstairs. Ally, let _me_ be the bride, I don't want to be the groom's mother."

"But you're so good at fussing at people." Allison pointed out.

"Am not!"

"Honestly, you two need to learn to share." Catherine groaned, seeing a squabble brewing dangerously in front of her. "Just let everyone take turns at playing different people."

"Yes, Katie." They responded automatically.

She nodded and started for the stairs, muttering, "Now to find Georgiana."

* * *

By this time, Thomas had moved to the front windows of the parlor, which also turned out to be the part of the house facing the street. He set his bucket down and stood up to mop the sweat from his forehead. It had grown hotter in a short amount of time. The clouds were moving, and the sun's rays were not as hidden as before.

But, thank goodness, there was still a breeze.

Thomas began to wash the windowpanes, scrubbing with all his might. Due to its proximity to the street, the glass was far more filthy and dulled with dirt than the others had been. He had to rub extra-hard in order to make even a dent in the first layer of dust.

Just then, he realized that someone was looking at him.

The prince slowly turned his head to see the pair of green eyes peeping from above the porch railing.

He grunted slightly, and the little head ducked down with a faint gasp. Thomas grinned.

"May I help you?" He asked politely, returning to his work.

The girl—she could not have been above five years old—left the safety of the porch to stand next to him. She gazed up at Thomas, still not answering his question, an expression of bold curiosity upon her face.

Then she asked breathlessly, "Are you Tommy?"

"I have been known by that name." Thomas replied easily.

"Are you Katie's friend?"

"Yes. And who are you?"

She gave him a broad grin, "Georgiana. I'm Katie's sister."

The man swept a long, wet streak across the pane, "Well, Georgiana, how are you this fine afternoon?"

"Great. Um-," she glanced over at the window he was working on, "-why are you washing our windows?"

"Because I told your father I would."

"Do you like washing windows?"

"Sometimes." Thomas wrung out his washcloth and folded it into a square before dampening the corner.

Georgiana watched as he made a powerful brush against the window, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"Wow!" She whispered in amazement. "That's old!"

He chuckled, "Yes, I suppose it is. How old are you, Georgiana?"

"I'll be five in two months!" She sounded very proud of the fact.

Thomas commented, "Hmmm… five years old. That's a very impressive age."

"Daddy said he caught his first frog when he was five."

"And when did you catch yours?" He asked, smiling.

Georgiana beamed at him, "When I was three. Ally and Elly dared me to do it."

"Never back down from a dare?"

The little girl shook her head firmly, "Never."

Thomas laughed again—it was a deep, handsome rumble that Georgiana liked immediately.

With an impulsive movement, she came over and took his hand, asking, "Tommy, are you going to stay over for dinner?"

Slightly surprised at finding the little girl hanging off his hand, Thomas answered, "I'm not sure."

"You could meet my other sisters. 'Cept for Frieta and Mary—they're at school. But you could meet Ally and Elly and Jane and Emma and Lizzie," she smiled at him, "and you already know Katie. Do you like her?"

"Yes, I think she is a wonderful person."

"She's the best. She takes care of us when Mama's not around. Do you have any sisters?"

"No, and I don't have any brothers, either." Thomas replied as he swept another line of bubbles across the window.

"Oh…" Georgiana looked slightly puzzled at the prospect of not having any siblings. Then, after a moment's contemplation, she smiled and suggested brightly, "Well, you can come over any time you want and I'll pretend to be your sister!"

He grinned, "Thank you, Georgiana."

Pleased with herself, Georgiana continued to watch Thomas wash the windows. Then, favoring a better vantage point, she released his hand and stepped back. She found that she quite liked the look of this tall, big individual. Not only did he have a nice laugh, a deep voice, and eyes as blue as the ocean; he also had a beard. Georgiana, having grown up with a father whom had sworn to a clean-shaven existence upon marrying her mother, found the idea of facial hair tremendously fascinating. She wondered what it would feel like to touch it…

Georgiana tilted her head slightly, asking, "Do you like carrots?"

"I like a lot of different types of food." Thomas replied as he wiped away a streak of soapy dirt.

"I don't like them. Mama says they're good for me but I think they taste bad." She considered him again, remarking, "You know, you're awfully tall."

The prince smirked, "Thank you. And do you want to know how I came to be so tall?"

The little girl nodded vigorously.

"I ate lots-," Thomas plunged his hand into the bucket again, "-and lots of _carrots_."

Georgiana's eyes widened, "Really?"

"Yes, really. If you want to grow up to be big and tall, you have to eat your carrots."

She frowned, debating the possibility with herself before deciding: "I think I'll just be little instead."

Thomas laughed again, causing Georgiana to break out into another delighted smile. "Very well, dear girl. Suit yourself."

Suddenly, the door of the house was flung open and a rather harried-looking Catherine walked briskly out. She came quickly off and around the porch, asking, "Tommy, have you seen a little girl about-?" Then she spotted Georgiana.

Eyes narrowing, Catherine exclaimed sternly, "Georgiana, you know you're not supposed to go outside without permission! What on earth were you thinking?"

Her sister shrugged, "I wanted to know what Tommy was doing."

"Is it any business of yours what the man's doing? You're supposed to be inside!"

"But he's washing our windows, Katie-."

"I know he is, but _you_ aren't. Now, get back inside."

Georgiana made it halfway to the door before turning back to ask: "Is Tommy going to stay for dinner?"

"Georgiana, go _now_." Catherine ordered, pointing meaningfully at the door.

Sighing, the little girl obeyed and went into the house, shutting the door behind her. Catherine groaned and ran her hand distractedly through her hair, clearly annoyed with what had just occurred.

Thomas glanced at her and asked uncertainly, "So, she's your youngest sister?"

"What? Oh, yes—Georgiana. Yes, she's the youngest. She didn't bother you did she? She knows full well she's not allowed outside unless someone is with her."

He shook his head and wiped off the last of the suds from the glass. "She did not bother me in the slightest. She actually provided me with company, which I appreciate very much."

Catherine smiled, "You're too kind."

"No. No, I'm being honest." Thomas replied. Then, after wringing out his washcloth, he flipped it over his shoulder and picked up the bucket. He nodded to the sitting room windows, "Excuse me, Cat, but I need to-."

"Of course." She stepped aside, watching as he strode over to the next set of windows.

"Okay, if Georgiana is the youngest, then who comes next?" He called over his shoulder, setting up to resume his window washing.

"The twins—Ally and Elly." Catherine came around and took a seat on the edge of the porch.

He raised an eyebrow, "Twins?"

The girl laughed, "Yes. That was a bit surprising, but it all worked out in the end. They're about six now. And then after them is Jane—she's ten—and then Emma, who is twelve years old."

"And then Mary and Frieta who are in Livesley." Thomas recited, rubbing his washcloth at the dust-coated glass.

"I must say, Tommy, you're catching on quick."

He shrugged, replying in amusement, "It's a defense mechanism—much like your propensity to fold whatever you lay your hands on."

Catherine rolled her eyes, "Oh, ha ha, very funny."

"I couldn't agree more." He grinned.

The girl leaned back to watch as he easily scrubbed off the top panes of the sitting room window. He really was tall. Georgiana must have thought he was a giant.

Shaking away these thoughts, Catherine said, "Okay, so you know about my family—or at least their names. What sort of people are _you_ related to?"

Thomas frowned in confusion, "I showed you my ancestors' portraits."

"Not _them_." Catherine brushed aside his statement, entreating, "Tell me about your cousins. About Freddy's family."

"Ah, now _that_ could take quite a few days."

"I have time."

He smiled at her.

Thomas continued to wash Lord Brian's windows, and, as he did so, he continued to speak with Catherine. He told her of his aunt and uncle, of Frederick's many brothers and sisters. He told her how each family-shared holiday and birthday party had ended in some kind of minor disaster—usually instigated by whatever antics he and his cousins had concocted. He listed the names of Frederick's brothers and how the stories about 'rescue missions' from the third floor bathroom were actually true. He gave a brief overview of his cousin's sisters, and how they had married men who worked as coopers in nearby Florence. He told her of his uncle's fondness for corny jokes and how his mother and father, constrained by the bonds of love and politeness, laughed uproariously at each one.

"Even if they had heard the joke before?" Catherine asked, smirking.

Thomas got onto his knees to reach the lower panes of glass. "Yes. Apparently, according to my father, Uncle Herman had a book he used to pull the jokes from. Thought they were absolutely hilarious."

"What do you mean by 'had'?"

"My Aunt Derma burnt it when she grew tired to being compared to a whelk. Thankfully, though, Uncle Herman found the situation very amusing and has since then-," he grunted, buffing up the window, "-learned to hide his joke books and never compare his wife to any type of invertebrate."

And then he told her about his other aunts and uncles—his mother had come from a large family. He described Uncle Barnet's favorite type of golf game, and how Aunt Louisa of Chantill absolutely despised any dish with lemon. He went into detail about his Aunt Gertrude's thirty-first birthday party, explaining complications such as Uncle Louis's dog eating the cake and the heat of the day making everyone retreat indoors. He provided a brief account of the month-long chess game his uncles Albert and Claude had conducted, which would have gone on much longer if his younger cousin Ruth had not knocked the table over.

Apparently, the prince had at least thirty first cousins alone. Thirty cousins with whom he had gotten into more trouble than the heir to Corona's throne should have, according to his parents. However, the tales he recounted were fairly amusing. Most of them seemed to end with him washing windows, unsurprisingly, as well with a new injury of some kind.

"As you obviously have heard by now, I've gotten more than my share of black eyes. The one your father has given me is certainly not the worst. No, that credit goes to Cousin Penelope." Thomas declared, sliding his washcloth along the middle pane of glass of the first dinning-room window.

Catherine, leaning out the second window, observed: "I'm surprised you can still see after she hit you with her parasol. Though I can't say you didn't deserve it."

He shrugged, "How was I supposed to know she was being proposed to at the time? I was eleven, and I only had half the sense I have now, which isn't saying much."

"Hmm—and _you_ are to be ruler of our country?" She asked teasingly.

"If I live that long. Many times in childhood, my mother would claim that I'd be dead before I reached the age of fifteen." He grinned ruefully, adding, "Little did she know what sort of trouble I'd get into _that_ year."

"Oh, I can hardly wait to hear this."

Thomas laughed, glancing up at the sky. Then he noticed the position of the sun, and his grin faltered as he asked, "What time is it now?"

"What?"

"The time, Cat. What time is it?"

Suddenly her green eyes widened as realization dawned on her. "Oh dear—I should've gotten dinner started fifteen minutes ago. Listen, Tommy, I'll have to leave you. Whenever you're done, feel free to come inside and cool off."

"Thank you very much."

"You're welcome." She withdrew from the window, closed it, and then, a second later, she opened it to speak to him again. "Just so I know how many places to set the table—are you going to be joining us for dinner?"

Thomas, pressing his arm against the window as he scrubbed, replied, "I have not yet been invited by the lady of the house and therefore I can neither answer 'yes' nor 'no'."

The girl smiled, "I'll set it for eleven, then. George is staying over too."

When he looked back at her, he found that she had returned indoors and latched the window shut. The prince smirked as he returned to his task, wishing that it were not quite so hot outside.

* * *

About an hour or so later, Catherine checked the green beans boiling in one of the pots suspended above the kitchen fire. She nodded in satisfaction, giving a slight stir with her spoon before glancing at the pot containing cubed potatoes.

Sliding an inquisitive spoon into the water, Catherine called over her shoulder, "Emma, how's the chicken coming?"

Her sister peered into the brick oven, frowning, "I don't think it's baking fast enough, Katie."

Catherine groaned, "Probably not. Let me add more coals onto the fire."

Emma stepped back and watched as her elder sister deftly scooped up a spade-full of coals from the grate and shunted them into the bottom of the oven. Catherine leaned back to rest on her knees, looking over to where Jane was at the table peeling apples for dessert. The apple skin was curling over the tabletop like some thin snake, and Jane, humming happily, dropped another naked apple into the bowl beside her elbow.

Catherine rose to her feet, "Jane dear, how many apples have you peeled?"

"About six." Jane answered, peering into the bowl.

"That's not enough." Emma said, sitting down on one of the chairs and snatching up an apple. "Can I help peel them, Katie?"

Catherine smiled, "You may. But make sure you don't go higher than ten, all right? Then, Emma, you can slice them if you promise to be very careful."

Her sister nodded devoutly, "I will, Katie."

A rapt knocking resounded at the front door, followed by a series of three slower knocks. Emma looked up quickly, announcing, "George is here."

"Yes, and that means Mother and Lizzie are back from their shopping. Jane, make sure Emma doesn't hurt herself."

"_Katie_." Emma frowned reproachfully at her sister.

Catherine laughed as she entered the hallway, "Only joking, dear."

She quickly walked towards the door and, after wiping her hands on the apron around her waist, opened it to admit her mother, sister, and soon-to-be brother-in-law.

George beamed at her from around an armful of packages, "Hello there, Katie!"

"Hello, George. Do you need any help?"

"Nah—I can handle it. Lizzie might need some assistance though." He grunted as he staggered into the hallway and promptly leaned against the wall for support.

Catherine watched her sister enter the house next, carrying only a small container and rolling her eyes. "George wanted to carry everything by himself. Kept saying it was his 'duty'." "And it is my duty, dearest girl." Her fiancé responded, adjusting the items in his arms.

Elizabeth shook her head. "You're just trying to show-off for Mother."

"That depends-," George panted, glancing over the top of his packages, "-is it working?"

Lady Marie smirked, "Believe it or not, it is."

Catherine closed the door, hiding her grin by pretending to scratch her nose as Elizabeth sighed, "Mother, don't encourage him. You know he's going to break his back one day by lifting something by himself"

Her mother smiled, "Hopefully by that point you will be around to take care of him, Lizzie. Now, George dear, please give Katie the topmost bags. Those go into the kitchen, Katie. George, you can set the rest here in the hall." She cleared her throat as these transactions were taking place, looking around her house. She frowned slightly, "Does it seem brighter in here to you?"

"Oh, that would be Tommy's doing." Catherine said, taking three bags from a grateful George. "He's washed most of the windows."

"What?" Her mother turned around, her green eyes narrowing.

Behind her, Catherine could hear George whispering a confused "'_Tommy'_? Who's '_Tommy'_?" to her sister.

Catherine shrugged, explaining, "Daddy managed to—um—_persuade_ him to clean the windows while he went out to get milk."

"So your father is not here?" Lady Marie asked, her voice slightly steely.

"No ma'am."

"And the prince of Corona is doing our windows?"

Her daughter shifted the bags in her arms, "Well, he was until about thirty minutes ago."

"What is he doing now?" The good lady asked, studying Catherine's slightly guilty face.

"Um…"

* * *

"Run! The lion has broken out of his cage!" Georgiana yelled, sprinting across the back yard as Allison and Eleanor heeded her call by dashing off in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, a rather tall young man sprang up from his crouched position and took chase, growling exaggeratedly. He jogged after Allison, roaring as he attempted to catch her. The girl squealed in delight and darted away, leaving him to follow her sister instead. Eleanor glanced back and let out a fiendish giggle, leaping over a misplaced shovel, which her pursuer promptly tripped over. The man fell onto the grass, laughing as he rolled over onto his back.

Georgiana marched over to him and put on her most severe glare, crossing her arms. "You, Mr. Lion, are supposed to be in your cage."

Thomas smiled up at her, letting out a pitiful "_Meow_…" that rendered the little girl into a literal tidal wave of giggles.

He propped himself up on his elbows, asking, "Am I really supposed to be in my cage, Miss Georgiana?"

She nodded, trying her hardest to stop laughing by clamping her mouth shut. This action did not work, however, and Georgiana was forced to hold Thomas's shoulder for support as she experienced a fresh batch of giggles.

The prince grinned, glancing over as Allison and Eleanor approached him with looks of feigned apprehension. At his broad smile, however, and at the sight of their younger sister practically howling with laughter, both girls ran over to plop down next to the man.

Allison tore up a patch of grass and began sprinkling it on Thomas's stomach, asking, "How did you learn to be such a good lion, Tommy?"

"Yes-," Eleanor implored, plucking some grass as well, "-you're even better at it than George is."

"Oh, I'm not entirely sure that's the case." Thomas responded, watching the grass pile on his stomach grow taller and taller. "George is probably ten times better than I am."

"But you are very good all the same. You've even got a mane." Georgiana said, pointing at his beard.

"Is it soft, Georgiana?" Allison asked curiously.

Eleanor looked at her sister, "Can we touch it?"

"Tommy-," Georgiana gazed at him seriously, whispering, "-would it be all right if we touched your mane?"

"We won't tug on it, promise." Allison said.

Her sister nodded, adding, "Yes, we only want to see what it feels like."

Thomas considered the trio, running the idea through his mind as Georgiana's little fingers absently tapped a rhythm on his shoulder. He opened his mouth to answer, but was saved from replying when another voice interrupted.

"Good afternoon, your Highness."

The prince hastily stood up, brushing the grass and dirt from his clothes as he dropped a quick bow, stammering, "Good—good afternoon to you, Lady Marie."

The lady of the house, Elizabeth, Catherine, and George had all come outside by way of the kitchen door. Lady Marie had an amused smile on her face, Elizabeth was giving her sister a side-ways glance, Catherine was frowning at the state of her younger sisters' dresses, and George merely grinned brightly around at them all.

"You've done a wonderful job on the windows, dear." Lady Marie remarked, glancing at the kitchen windows.

"Erm—thank you, Madam, but I haven't exactly finished those quite yet. I was-," Thomas looked down at Georgiana and received a friendly smile in return, "-I became distracted."

George squinted slightly and then laughed, "Is that little dirt pile Georgiana?"

The girls suddenly realized their future brother-in-law was present. With a joyful shout of "George!" all three sprinted over to the man to be hugged, kissed, and otherwise quite pampered.

Elizabeth sighed, "Great, now your spoiling them, George."

"Ally, Elly, try not to get mud on him." Catherine pleaded, hurrying over to stop her sisters from messing up the duke's son's trousers.

Lady Marie, meanwhile, had walked over to the nervous prince. She still had that strangely unsettling smile on her face, and Thomas was certain he had done something wrong. He did not know what he had done, but whatever it was he regretted his involvement.

"Katie tells me that my husband managed to enlist your services today." Lady Marie remarked, watching as Thomas attempted to brush some of the grass and dust from his clothing.

He coughed, replying, "Lord Brian asked me if I wouldn't mind washing the windows. I said I didn't and—and I hope I'm not in trouble."

She smiled, "Oh, don't worry, dear. _You're_ not in trouble."

"Great—um-," he cast his eye around to find an excuse, "-I'll just finish up those last windows and I should probably be-."

Abruptly, Georgiana ran over and took his hand, urging, "Tommy, quick, come and see if you're taller than George!"

"Dear girl, I _know_ he's taller than me. Thomas is a giant." George said, walking over with Allison riding him piggyback. The little girl had her arms linked tightly around his neck and a pleased smile on her face.

Lady Marie frowned at her youngest daughter, "Georgiana, you and your sisters need to get washed up, now."

"But Mama-."

"No 'buts', dear. You all look a state and while we have company over! Katie-?"

"I'll take care of it, Mother." Catherine said calmly, coming over to free Thomas from her sister's grip.

Eventually, with the help of Elizabeth and George, Catherine managed to get the three younger girls back into the house. By this point, Thomas had reassumed his window washing, and was kneeling upon the grass scrubbing the final pane when the kitchen door opened.

He looked over, expecting to find Catherine standing in the doorway, and was slightly disappointed to see her mother instead.

"Thomas, are you planning on going home for dinner?" Lady Marie asked, watching as the prince of Corona continued to brighten the glass of the kitchen window.

Thomas paused, staring at his own reflection. He gave a half-shrug, answering, "That was my intention."

"Would your mother mind very much if you had dinner with us instead? Katie made too much and it's the least I can do after you've done such a marvelous job on the windows."

He smiled, "I do not think I will be missed."

"Wonderful. Once you're finished, I'll send Katie out with a wash basin so you can, um-," her green eyes swept over the dirt stains on the man's face and shirt, "-clean up before coming inside."

"Thank you, and thank you also for the gracious invitation."

"No problem, dear." Lady Marie went back inside to assist her daughters with dinner.

* * *

"Georgiana, get out of the tub and dry off." Catherine ordered, gathering up her sisters' dirty clothes from the floor.

"But Katie, you haven't cleaned behind my ears yet…" Georgiana pouted, splashing more water onto the bathroom tile.

Elizabeth, having changed from her town dress into her home-wear of apron and skirt, quickly came forward to mop up the water. "Really, Georgiana, you're five years old now. You can get your own ears."

She shook her wet head, protesting, "I'm not five yet."

"Just get out of the tub. Katie, give me a dry towel."

Catherine handed Elizabeth the requested towel and quickly entered the hallway. She stopped at Allison and Eleanor's room, opening the door to call: "Are you two almost ready?"

"Ally won't give me my stockings!"

"They're _my_ stockings!" Noise of a scuffle of some kind came from inside the room. It sounded as if the two girls were actually wrestling over the stockings.

Catherine groaned, setting her forehead against the doorframe, "All right. Ally, Elly, if you don't resolve the matter in three seconds, I'm-."

Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom shepherding a bundle of towels that was Georgiana. She met Catherine's eyes, nodded, and promptly stormed into the room.

"Ally and Elly, you two stop arguing this moment!" Elizabeth demanded furiously.

"But Lizzie-."

"_Now_! Where is your dresser, Elly? Go look in _there_ for your stockings! And Ally come and help Georgiana find her clothes!"

Catherine leaned against the wall, listening as her sister continued to bark commands like a general. In a few more seconds, the room beyond was silent as the three younger girls obeyed their cross, elder sister. Elizabeth marched out of the room, her eyes narrowed in frustration.

"Really, Katie, you would think that after a few years-."

"I know, dear." Catherine cut smoothly over her sister's oncoming tirade. "Let's just finish straightening up the bathroom."

"I can't wait until I'm married and in Dean." Elizabeth vowed as she and her sister went into the steamy bathroom. "Then I won't have to deal with this anymore."

"You'll be crying a week after the wedding about how much you miss us." Catherine predicted, kneeling down by the tub to retrieve the rest of the towels.

Her sister fetched another washcloth from behind the sink, muttering, "Well, I might cry about Georgiana…"

"Not me?"

"What? Miss someone who's as bossy as you?"

"Oh, I know you'll be boo-hooing as soon as you leave Dean for your honeymoon."

Elizabeth shook her head, retorting, "I won't think about you for a second."

"You won't even be able to tell George what the problem is. You'll just clutch the poor man's jacket and bawl until he's absolutely terrified."

"I'll be practically singing I'll be so happy to be rid of you."

Catherine ignored her reply and plowed on: "You'll scream at the captain to turn the ship around."

"We'll be riding in a carriage dear. Remember, Dean's not an ocean city." Her sister reminded.

"Carriage, then. And when the driver doesn't turn around fast enough, you'll steal one of the horses and gallop back to the city."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "What about George?"

She shrugged, wringing out a particularly wet towel. "George will steal the other horse and give chase because he loves you _oh_ so much."

"And you?"

"I'd meet you halfway."

Both girls turned to look at each other and managed a few seconds of silence before bursting out laughing. They continued to laugh for some time, and did not stop until their mother called upstairs.

"You're wanted, little sister." Elizabeth said, piling the remaining dirty laundry into the hamper.

Catherine sighed and stood up, "Yes. It's probably something to do with dinner."

"Or the prince."

She looked at her sister, recognizing the casual tone in her voice.

"What?" Elizabeth asked, obviously feigning innocence.

"If you have something to say you can go ahead and say it, Lizzie. Get it out now rather than at dinner."

"Was he really washing the windows _all_ day?"

"Yes, Lizzie, _all_ day." Catherine replied, exaggerating her sister's emphasis.

Elizabeth frowned, "Did you talk to him even once?"

"Of course I did."

"And?"

"And he's still the very good, very kind gentleman I told you he was." Catherine said lightly, untying and retying the apron around her waist.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Well, I know _that_."

"Then what do you not know that you want to know?" Her sister turned around in the doorway to face her with an expression of exasperation.

"What I want to know is-."

"Katie! Come down here, dear." Lady Marie called again.

"Got to go." Catherine started out the door.

"I'll talk to you later tonight." Elizabeth declared warningly.

"You're not going to get anything out of me."

"I don't have to—your face says enough."

Catherine turned around and stuck her tongue out at her sister to blow a rather loud, rather sarcastic raspberry.

"Oh, _very_ mature." Elizabeth snorted, smiling.

Laughing, the girl continued her way downstairs and into the front hall. She could see, thanks to the prince's excellent work on the windows, dust motes glinting in the sunlight streaming across the carpet. Catherine glanced into the sitting room and saw George in there with Jane and Emma. The dear man was currently describing a candy shop he had once visited in Chantill. His account of the shelves and shelves of delicious treats seemed to enthrall the two girls. Catherine knew that the second her father got home he would—aside from being glared at by his wife—be entreated to take a trip to Chantill next summer.

Shaking her head, Catherine entered the kitchen to find her mother slicing and buttering bread she had bought from the bakery downtown. Lady Marie had also set the apples in for simmering and had gathered the green beans into a bowl. Catherine watched as her mother absently reached over and gave two shakes of the salt jar over the green beans. She smiled and was about to sit down to aid with the bread slicing when Lady Marie spoke.

"I've got this, dear."

"Then why did you call me down?"

Her mother nodded to the door, explaining: "Thomas needs someone to take the wash basin out to him. There's also a towel and a bar of soap in the bucket. I'm afraid he'll have to wait for the water to heat up before washing his hands. However, he can take care of the rest with water from the garden pump."

Catherine grabbed the tin wash basin from its hook by the door, frowning. "Why are we making sure the prince gets cleaned up?"

"Did you see him?" Lady Marie raised her eyebrows, buttering another slice of bread. "Those girls had him rolling about in the dirt—_and_ he's been working all afternoon in the hot sun. He needs to wash up before dinner at my table, I don't care who he is."

"He's eating dinner with us?" The girl smiled, pleased at the prospect.

Her mother tilted her head, smirking, "Well, I _assumed_ he was, considering you had the table set for eleven. Did you want to invite someone else, Katie dear, or have all the other young men been taken and Thomas is just the last resort?"

"Oh." Catherine had the decency to blush slightly. "Um—I'll go make sure he gets behind his ears."

"Thank you, dear."

The girl quickly headed outside, more as an effort to avoid further questioning rather than obeying orders, and nearly tripped over the prince as he was sitting on the back steps. Thomas hastily stood up, muttering apologies and offering his arm to help her regain balance. He grinned and stepped back, swatting at a mosquito investigating his ear.

"Hello, Cat." He said, watching her set the towel and soap on the stairs.

"Hello." She smiled at him, "Finished with the windows?"

"At long last. There was a particularly malicious blot that refused to give way for nearly five minutes, but I managed to come out as victor."

"And no casualties?"

"Well…" Thomas looked down at his stained shirt and grinned, "No one important, anyway."

Catherine sighed, sitting down on the steps, "Your mother's never going to let you come back here."

"Not wearing anything she deems high-quality, anyway." He nodded to the wash basin, "Is that for me?"

"Yes, it is. Do you mind cold water?"

Thomas laughed, "Cat, I've been out in the sun most of the afternoon. I would love some cold water right now."

"You'll have to pump it yourself." She said, giving him the basin.

He shrugged, "I'm the one using it—who else should pump it?"

"True."

The prince went over to the garden and began pumping water, the lever squeaking about the quiet yard. The neighbors had long since retreated indoors to partake of their own dinner, increasing the solitude of evening. Catherine closed her eyes, listening to the creaking of the pump and the far-off crash of ocean waves. Crickets chirruped in the grass, sending their songs up into a world smelling of summer.

"I should probably tell you-," Thomas started, hefting the half-full bucket onto the ground before the door, "-that I took the liberty of watering the old mare in your stable when I checked on Maximilian."

"Thank you."

He bobbed his head respectfully, "You are quite welcome. Your father was kind enough to allow Maximilian a place to stay that wasn't the side of the street. I must thank him when I get the chance."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate it, Tommy. And is Maximilian your horse's name?" She asked as he began to create lather with his soap and towel.

He nodded, "Yes. Every prince of Corona receives his own horse, and Maximilian's mine. He's a young, hot-blooded stallion who loves showing off whenever he gets the chance. Fast as lightning—when he wants to be—and he has absolutely no respect for anyone."

"Yet, despite all that, he's your favorite horse to ride." Catherine said knowingly.

"Well, everyone has a favorite _something_." Thomas grinned, squeezing out most of the water from his wash cloth. "I just lacked common sense when I chose him."

The man proceeded to scrub the worst of the dirt and sweat from his face, turning his back to her so as to get a better view of the garden. Not to mention, it is quite awkward to clean your own face off in front of people. Especially when they can see you are not cleaning all that's needed to be cleaned, but they are too polite to point it out to you and instead just stand there with sympathetic smiles as you fail tremendously at the task.

Catherine continued to watch him, however, remembering just where he had received those dirt stains from. She had been pleasantly surprised upon coming outside to find the prince of Corona easily befriending and taking care of her three youngest sisters. He had even agreed to get onto all fours and be ridden like a horse, despite the lack of dignity involved. Both Allison and Eleanor, having been soundly scared by the man the night before, were now convinced he was the best person in the universe (next to George, of course). And Georgiana had found herself a new lion, complete—Catherine smiled as Thomas splashed himself with more water—with a mane of impressive proportions.

Coughing, the prince dried off his face and took a seat next to her on the back steps. He wiped the back of his neck with the towel, murmuring, "I'm afraid that these grass marks are not going to come off my shirt."

"They probably won't. But really-," she reached up and neatly adjusted the back of his collar, "- my mother won't mind that as much as she'd mind the cleanliness of your skin."

"And how do I fare in that regard?" Thomas asked, rubbing down his arms.

She considered him, taking in his bold profile. "All right, I suppose. Mother wants you to wash your hands with warm water, however."

"I can do that."

The kitchen door suddenly opened and Elizabeth stuck her head out. "Katie, Mother says you need to finish the apples while she deals with Daddy."

"Has he come home from 'fetching milk'?" Catherine asked sarcastically, getting to her feet and ascending the stairs.

"And 'a business meeting with Lord Roderick' which we all know was a game of dominoes." Her sister sighed in disapproval. Elizabeth then called over Catherine's shoulder: "Tommy, you've still got some dirt on your nose. Do try to get that off or I'll be staring at it all night."

Catherine's eyes widened and she pushed her sister back into the kitchen, hissing, "_Lizzie_, leave the poor man alone."

"What? Were you going to wipe it off for him?" Elizabeth asked, grinning mischievously.

Before her annoyed sister could say anything, George walked into the room, a clean Eleanor clasping his hand. He smiled at the two sisters. "Enjoying a cozy sister-to-sister chat before dinner, Lizzie dear?"

Catherine groaned and went over to the oven, pleading, "George, why don't you just elope after dinner and take Lizzie away as fast as possible?"

His smile broadened, "Sure, if that's what the family wants."

"It was a joke, George." Elizabeth rolled her eyes as she led him and Eleanor out of the room.

Catherine sighed and, wrapping her hand in the cloth of her apron, withdrew the dish of apples from the oven. She stood and set them on the table, satisfied at the outcome. They let off a steady waft of steam, smelled deliciously of cinnamon, and were a beautiful golden color.

"Katie, you are marvelous. Those look like they came from the Garden of the Hesperides itself." Lord Brian remarked, entering the room with his wife following him like a shepherd behind a wayward lamb.

His wife glanced over to her daughter, "Did you get them out in time, Katie? Good. And what about Thomas?"

"He-."

Thomas took this moment to enter the house. "I left the basin on the steps, Cat. Did you want me to-?" he stopped talking, suddenly aware that Catherine's father was watching him in mild surprise. Thomas dropped a quick bow, "How are you, Lord Brian?"

"I'm fine, thank you very much, Thomas." His wife elbowed him in the side, and Lord Brian hurriedly added, "And I'm sorry that you spent your entire afternoon washing windows. I should have never asked."

The prince smiled, "No, it—it's quite all right, sir. I actually enjoyed it."

"Well, thank you for doing our win—my job." Lord Brian was forced to change words by yet another nudge from his wife's elbow.

Thomas pretended to not have noticed this and said, "I haven't done the second floor windows, yet. I was hoping to get to those after dinner."

"You don't have to-."

"No, he can—he can do those." Catherine said, looking to her mother for support. "They _are_ looking rather horrible, after all."

Lady Marie took a deep breath, allowing, "If Thomas wants to clean them, he may. But it will probably be after dusk by the time he's finished."

"I don't have a curfew anymore, Lady Marie." Thomas said quietly.

"That you know of, dear." She smiled and patted her husband on the shoulder. "Just wait until you break it."

"Ah…"

"Go ahead and wash your hands, Thomas. Brian can show you to the dinning room when you're done." Lady Marie started for the door, but turned around to look at her husband. Her voice was light enough, but the undercurrent of steel was quite obvious as she said: "Oh, and Brian dear, remember you have an appointment in your office after dinner. Don't be late."

"I wouldn't dream of it, dearest heart." Lord Brian promised, wincing at the severity of her gaze.

"Katie, lock the back door so he doesn't try to escape."

Catherine smiled, "Yes, Mother."

Lady Marie departed, leaving both men to glance dubiously at each other while her daughter finished the final preparations on the apples.

"Tommy, there's hot water in the sink for you to wash your hands. You might want to clean yours too, Daddy, or you won't be getting any dinner." Catherine picked up the bowl of apples and followed after her mother. "Scrub hard, gentlemen."

Both Lord Brian and the prince of Corona awkwardly made their way over to the sink. For several seconds they simply took turns washing their hands. Eventually, however, Thomas felt the need to speak.

"I'm sorry to have caused you any trouble, Lord Brian."

Lord Brian grinned ruefully as he crumpled a dishtowel in his hands. "Oh, you're not as sorry as _I_ am, Thomas. Trust me on that."

* * *

The family, with the addition of George and Thomas, all sat down to eat in the dinning room as the sun started to slip lower in the sky. The prince found himself seated between Georgiana and Catherine, with George and Elizabeth sitting across from them. The other girls were spread amongst the remaining seats while the master and lady of the house took their respective positions at the opposite ends of the table.

Lord Brian rose to his feet, "Let us ask blessing for this fantastic meal with thanks to our talented cooks." He smiled at his daughters.

Thomas felt a rather small hand slip into his left and glanced down to see Georgiana shutting her eyes tightly, her fingers barely wrapping about his palm. He turned to Catherine and saw her holding her hand out to him. All the other family members (and George) had their hands linked as well. Clearly this was custom and Thomas complied, taking the girl's hand within his own.

Lord Brian had already started praying by this point, thanking the God of Heaven and Earth for the food He had provided for them all. Thomas tried his hardest to follow the prayer, but what with Georgiana absently squeezing and releasing his hand on his left, and Catherine's firm grip on his right, he had a very difficult time concentrating.

"Amen." Lord Brian finished, taking his seat as the rest of his family and guests released hands.

Thomas, however, found that his left hand was still being grasped.

"Georgiana, he needs his hand to eat." Catherine said, frowning at her sister.

"But Tommy's my friend."

She smiled, "And he's hungry, dear. Let go."

"Oh, okay then." Georgiana regretfully relinquished her grip on the man's hand and started to eat her bread.

"Pass the chicken, Lizzie." Lord Brian suggested as the general sound of clinking glasses and scraping silverware filled the room.

* * *

The world above had changed quite a lot during the last few hours of daylight. The sun was nearing the climax of its descent, and it shone with a quiet, yellow radiance. This yellow, as it spread outwards, gradually slipped into a softer orange. The two colors formed a ribbon of sunset marking the place where crashing sea touched sky. Beyond this defining line, the heavens stretched onward in an everlasting blue, darkening as it approached the island city.

Thomas glanced up at this sky, noting, "Your mother was quite right when she said I'd be done around dusk."

"You're not completely done yet, though." Catherine pointed out, watching as he carefully scooted across her father's rooftop.

"I know—I know. I've still got your window to do." He replied, nearing the window in question to take his wash cloth and bucket from her. She reached down to her feet to retrieve the tools, disappearing momentarily from sight as she ducked below the sill.

She gave him the bucket, resuming their conversation with a candid: "Yes, you do. And, so I can be sure you do a good job, I'm going to need to come out."

The prince raised his eyebrows, "What? Onto the roof?"

"Yes."

"Cat, as much as I am sure you can do anything, I don't think-." He broke off, dumbstruck as the girl gracefully began to exit the window.

"Are you a gentleman?" Catherine asked abruptly, holding out her hand to him.

Thomas nodded, taking her hand, "Well—I was raised to be one…"

"Then don't question a woman's ability to do anything." She responded, easily climbing out of the window and onto the roof of her father's house.

He stared at her.

Catherine took a seat on the other side of the dormer, releasing his hand, "Tommy, I've been climbing out onto this roof for over half of my life. I know how to do it without falling off."

"And in a skirt, apparently." Thomas remarked, still amazed.

She gave him a wide smile, and for a second he forgot what he was talking about.

The prince coughed slightly, shutting the window so he could start working again. For the first few seconds, he merely scrubbed at the glass while his friend gazed upward at the wispy, peach-hued clouds. Once or twice, Thomas allowed himself a sideways glance at the girl, finding her to be more and more distracting now that the sun's rays lit up her face.

Then she was asking him a question, and he had to pretend to be busy at the window again.

"Tommy, what is it like to live at the palace?"

Thomas frowned, "Um, well, it's really big."

"I gathered that." She smirked, staring at the series of chimneys and weathervanes upon the houses opposite them.

"And I suppose—well, Cat, I don't _know_. I mean—it's the palace! It's big, it's busy, and it's always unnervingly clean. One has very little time to one's self, people come in every day from all sorts of countries, and-." He stopped for a second, swallowing. "And it's lonely, sometimes."

Catherine was momentarily taken aback by the sadness in his voice. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and asked, "What do you mean?"

He grinned slightly, "Well, take today, for instance. This entire time I've been at your house I have been surrounded by people. And they're not servants, they're not dignitaries, they're not soldiers. They are your family, your neighbors, and your friends. You relate to them all, and they know you as you are."

Thomas shook his head, thinking. The girl waited for him to continue, unwilling to break the silence that had fallen. He had something to say. She knew he did, and she knew he needed to say it.

Eventually, the prince shrugged, "I'm not saying I don't have friends or family or anything like that. Goodness knows I've been blessed with much more than I deserve. It's just that—in the palace—I'm set apart, I suppose. I have a job that no one else can do, and a title that no one else can wear. And I have to do it because no one else _can_. It's a very isolating thing. And what makes it worse is that I worry about the future.

"Not marriage, that doesn't matter. But being king—being responsible for so many lives—that's what scares me. And I don't know if I can do it. Because, being put up on a pedestal like that, you _are_ by yourself. You alone are responsible, you alone take the blame, and you alone can make decisions that could alter the happiness and livelihood of thousands. And that is why living in the palace is sometimes lonely. Because, as the sole heir to the kingdom, I _am_ alone."

They did not speak for a long time, and it seemed that the prince had forgotten he was supposed to be washing windows. He twisted the wash cloth in his hands, staring ahead at the distant ocean as if he wanted to run straight for it and never look back.

Catherine took a deep breath, saying quietly, "I suppose I never thought of it that way."

He tilted his head, replying, "Most people normally don't."

"Are you all right?" She asked.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry—I shouldn't have bothered you with all that." He shook his head, muttering, "You don't need the troubles of a prince added on to your life. Though, I feel I should tell you that I don't always think that way about the future."

She looked over at him, and saw he was smiling.

"There were days when I was younger, and I watched my father at his desk, I loved the idea of being king. I was excited about it. I still _am_ excited, truth be told. There are many people out there who are counting on me to do a good job, and I know, if I try hard enough, I can do it. I can help sustain and even create more of a chance for them to succeed. And to see that—to really see that joy—makes it all worthwhile. Because then I will know I have done what they need, and that my people are happy."

Thus it was that, for the first time that day, Catherine saw the prince that the man actually was and the king he would be. It impressed her, to see the seriousness and concern in those dark blue eyes. He had a deep, very deep love for his people and his land. He wanted to be the best ruler he could be for them. He would be taking on the burden of serving hundreds and thousands of lives. Yet, while most men would run from the task, he was racing towards it despite the risks, despite the problems and loneliness.

She admired him then, and believed him to be among the bravest men she had ever known.

Catherine sighed, "Well, I don't know what's going to happen in the next few years. I don't even know what will be happening tomorrow. But one thing that I can say with absolute truth, Tommy, is that you will make a very good king."

He gave her a half-smile, "You think so?"

She nodded, "Yes."

Thomas bowed his head, murmuring, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."


	10. Wharfside wanderings

**Author Note**: ... :D I'm ALIVE! :D haha sorry about the wait ya'll :D but how about 'em Tigers, eh? :D haha anyhoo, just sticking this up real fast before watching a Psych episode with da sista :D thank you all so much for your patience, favs, reviews and for reading the story... next chapter is bound to take some time, so be patient, but not not as though I'll never post again patient :D God bless you all! hope you enjoy it! Oh, and there are a few references, see if you can dig 'em out :D literary references (hint, think Wodehouse and Stevenson)

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story**  
**

* * *

It was a fine day in the city. Gloriously warm, with the great sun shedding its glowing rays upon the earth. The wind was strong, and the air smelled of the sea and life as it wove through the crowded alleyways and streets. Occasionally this breeze would pick up other scents along its journey. Passing by a bakery, it carried the aroma of fresh, cinnamon bread over to the lower marketplace. There, the fragrance of pastries was exchanged for the more odorous stench belonging to the cattle and sheep that had been driven down from Corona's pasturelands. Depositing this perfume somewhere in the passage between the timber warehouse and the moneychanger's, the wind continued its way down to the wharf. Upon its arrival, Captain Dansk's pudgy nose wrinkled above his expansive mustache. Dansk, usually posted in the guardhouse, was acting as supervising officer for the week's army training exercises.

Snorting loudly, Captain Dansk raised his head and glared at one of his recruits as he floundered miserably out in the stretch of water beyond the docks.

"Get a move on, Hartman! Your team has already made it halfway to the opposite side of the channel!"

There was some feeble wailing in response. Evidently, Hartman could not swim very well.

"If you don't get over to that shore within ten minutes, I'll have you strapped to the roof of the bell tower! Now swim, you blasted squab!" Dansk bellowed, jabbing his finger to the opposite beach.

"Having trouble, Captain?" A young, visiting sailor from the Torren Peninsula asked, grinning impertinently.

"Shut up, you!" Dansk snarled, turning away to avoid the man's grin. Ever since those Torren sailors had come into port on the spice ships, they had been nothing but trouble. Lounging in the sunlight, laughing at the reverends, whistling and calling admiring remarks to passing ladies… he really doubted they actually got any _work_ done. And their superiors—the men who were in charge of them—did not care if they were disrupting the order and tranquility of Corona's capital. All they were here for was to make a fortune off the city's loyal citizens and be general nuisances for everyone. He wondered why the king put up with it.

In the midst of his fuming, Dansk heard the cheeky sailor's lilting voice again.

"You might want to send someone out to keep that man afloat or he'll be feeding the fishes." The sailor stood up and flexed his biceps, smirking, "Might I offer my own swimming prowess for your disposal?"

"No, you may not! I don't need the likes of _you_ to save my men. They can do it on their own, or they'll die trying."

The Torren man's eyes widened, and he commented mildly, "That's rather harsh, Captain. By the way, Master Hartman seems to be going under."

Dansk jerked his head around, watching as his soldier's hands disappeared beneath the waves. "Hartman!" He roared, his voice echoing about the docks. "Hartman! You get back here now you lily-livered, good for nothing, pansy half-wit!"

His squire, who had been keeping records that morning, frowned. "Um, sir, he's underwater. He can't hear you anymore." He paused, watching as Hartman's life bubbles started to pop out of existence. "Should we send someone to get him?"

The captain shook his head, "Nah, Tom will take care of it. He's already gone after him—on his return trip back, no less."

"He's reached the other side already?"

"Yep. Don't you know he's the best one out there? Pity he's royalty. I could've used him in the northern legions."

* * *

Thomas cut through the water, keeping his eyes fixed on Hartman's thrashing form. He stretched out with his long arms and propelled himself deeper into the depths. The recruit was sinking like a stone. Soon he would be resting on the floor of the harbor.

Ears filled with the drumming of water, the prince of Corona continued his descent, increasing speed so as to reach the man before he went too low. He easily caught Hartman up, sliding his hands under the man's arms and kicking for the surface.

They both broke the water coughing, and immediately Hartman began to struggle again.

"Hart—stop." Thomas dodged a flailing fist. "Stop—just relax and I'll get you to shore."

"I don't-," Hartman coughed miserably, "-want to go to shore! I want to drown so Dansk can't strap me to the bell tower roof."

Thomas grunted as the young man caught him a punch upon the chin. Wincing, the prince vowed, "If he straps you to the roof, I will personally climb the tower and cut the ropes. Now stop wriggling or I really _will_ drop you."

Hartman, already exhausted and stricken with fear, heard the sternness in his prince's voice. He went limp, and Thomas had to forcibly shift the man around to his back.

"Arms about my neck, Hartman. And whatever you do, don't choke me. Ready?"

The recruit merely let out a whimper and clasped his arms all the tighter.

"Right. Let's go."

Not wasting any more time treading water, Thomas struck off to the distant line of the docks. Even now he could hear his captain's voice growling out threats to Hartman. A few of them also seemed to be directed to the Torren sailors that had taken to hanging around during the training exercises. As prince, Thomas appreciated the foreign imports and exports. As a soldier in training, however, he had grown tired of their disrespect for his officer and for the men that were to be part of the kingdom's military.

Eventually, he reached the docks.

Dansk nodded approvingly, "Good job, Tom. Need help with Hartman?"

"If you please-," Thomas groaned, "-sir."

The captain gave another curt nod and turned to bellow at the other team he was to be training that morning. "Hadrian!"

Frederick glanced up from the card game he was playing with his comrades. "Are you talking to me?"

Dansk rolled his eyes, "Yes, I'm talking to _you_, you lazy buffoon! Get over here and help Tom out!"

"Buffo-?"

"_NOW_!"

"Righto, Cappers!" Frederick hastily sprang up and ran over to where his cousin was attempting to heave an unconscious Hartman onto the pier.

"Really, Goliath, a great lug like you can't lift up tiny Hartman?" Frederick asked, slipping his hands beneath Hartman's arms. He frowned, "Is the lad sleeping?"

"He passed out on the way back." Thomas panted.

"You've been towing dead weight nearly halfway across the channel?" He gazed at his cousin, seemingly thunderstruck.

Thomas clambered onto the dock, shrugging, "No one else was going to."

"I suppose not. But honestly, Goliath-," Frederick peeled back one of Hartman's eyelids, "-you're far too good for _your_ good."

He rubbed some of the water from his eyes, "Can't help it. Is he all right?"

"Hold on. Need to slap him a bit."

"Freddy, I don't think that's the best-."

Ignoring him, Frederick smacked Hartman about the face, calling industriously: "Harty! Harty, my lad! Wake up, man, or Dansk will have you shipped off to the Midlands!"

"I'm already considering that, Hadrian. And if you slap my recruit anymore, you might be joining him!" Dansk had evidently heard his name called, and was now staring angrily at his least-favorite soldier.

"Sorry Harty—got to scoot." Frederick made himself scarce by joining the card game again.

Thomas leaned over to examine the, as of yet, motionless Hartman. "Captain, I don't think he'll be waking up anytime soon."

"Better off that way. I'll have Rudy and Edge carry him to the barracks."

"Another lap, then?"

"Hold, Master Tom." It was the Torren sailor. He had seen the events that day and was impressed by the prince's skills. A sly grin had curved across his handsome, exotic features, and his dark eyes were sparkling. "I'd like to issue a challenge."

"Challenge revoked." Dansk retorted, his voice a low growl. "Leave my recruits alone or I'll-." He set his hand threateningly on the handle of his sabre.

The Torren sailor held up his arms in defense. "Captain, I was only trying to ask your best soldier to a friendly contest. He doesn't have to comply if he does not want to."

"Contest?" Thomas smiled slightly, a competitive rise surging up in his heart. "What sort of contest?"

"Tom, you don't have to-." Dansk tried to say, only to be interrupted by the Torren man again.

"Just a swim across the channel. Ten laps—two teams of nine men—leader goes at the beginning and at the end. First team done wins the match."

"And the contenders?"

"My men against yours, Master Tom. Choose wisely, or the great kingdom of Corona will bow to her betters." The Torren sailor trotted over to his comrades, speaking softly to them in the quick language of the peninsula.

Thomas glanced over to his captain, "Captain, what do you-?"

"'Betters'?" Dansk fumed, his enraged face turning steadily pinker. "A tiny spit of land is Corona's _better_?"

"Cap-."

"Beat them, Tom. I don't care how you do it—wipe the smirks off their faces!"

* * *

Several minutes earlier, Catherine and a group of her friends were walking onto the overpass crossing one of the main thoroughfares in the city. It had been a fantastic morning so far—one that was full of shopping, chatting, and sightseeing in the beautiful freedom of the day. Currently, all of the girls were talking animatedly about the foremost upcoming event in their lives: the wedding in Dean.

"And it's the first time Katie's managed to escape the house in—what was it, Katie dear?" Isobel asked, smirking as the other girls tittered.

Catherine smiled, admitting, "About a week."

Her friends laughed uproariously, scaring a passing farmer.

She patiently waited for the giggling to die down, saying calmly, "Now come on—it hasn't been _that_ bad. After all, Lizzie's getting married and there's a lot to do before the wedding."

"Didn't you say dear Lizzie's going frantic?" Her friend Henrietta asked impishly.

"She is."

Isobel nodded to Catherine, "And didn't you say you'd rather they eloped and get the whole thing over with?"

"That was on one of the worse days, Isobel." Catherine replied, shrugging. "And you all know I'm going to miss her terribly once she's married."

"Yes, we know that. But at least you have _some_ distractions to keep yourself moderately happy." One of the other girls said as she trotted over to the overpass railing.

Catherine frowned and came over to join her. "Whatever do you mean, Eira?"

Eira, her arms resting on the railing, replied bluntly, "Isobel's told us how you've been getting rather friendly with a certain prince."

"Oh, she _did_, did she?" Catherine's green eyes narrowed, and she turned around to glare sternly at her friend.

Isobel tried her best to look innocent. It did not work.

Janette shrugged and came over to join the other girls at the barrier. "Really, Katie, you can't imagine that we haven't noticed. I mean, you dance with him at _every_ party."

"And he's been visiting her house _all_ last week." Isobel pointed out, sliding into place on Catherine's other side.

The girl shook her head, "He only came over three times—and that one time it was on work from his father."

"Yet he still stopped into the kitchen to give you a hello and a wink."

"He did not _wink_." Catherine retorted, running her hand over the carved stone.

Isobel rolled her eyes, "Oh—my mistake—'blink obviously in your direction', then."

"Isobel, how many times do I have to tell you that-?"

"I know. I know. You two are nothing more than friends and that's all there is to it." She murmured, skating over the argument that was inevitably going to follow. In an effort to change the subject, Isobel declared, "Would you look at the city today? It's absolutely amazing."

Catherine followed her friend's gaze, staring down at the wide avenue below. Traders, tourists, and townsfolk milled about the street, filling the air with the music of at least twenty different accents and hundreds of voices. Horse-drawn carriages rolled alongside wagons laden with produce from the fields beyond the city. A musician, his lute on his knees, lounged in the corner of an outside tavern. He whistled to a passing waitress, receiving only a lofty toss of her head in return.

And then, of course, the waitress did deign to giggle as one of the many Torren sailors made an admiring comment. Ever since the spice ships had sailed in to fill the alleys and marketplaces with the smell of far-off countries, the Torren men had become a temporary fixture to the daily life of the city. Granted, Catherine thought as the waitress tripped lightly into the café, the foreigners were handsome men—exotically tan with musical voices and broad smiles. But she remembered her father telling her years ago that Torren men sailed into port, broke a thousand hearts, and left before the angry fathers found them. She knew better than to take idle flirtation as anything deeper than face value.

There were also several families of children and mothers moving around the different stores. Laughter and scolding could be heard in equal measure as young sons and daughters played, disobeyed, and otherwise acted as kids generally do when surrounded by so many attractions. One boy in particular seemed determined to scale a lamppost despite his mother's frustrated rebukes. And then a flock of sheep, driven up from the pasturelands, filtered into the road and caused a traffic jam as their herders followed in behind them.

As the shepherds started arguing with an incensed cabbage merchant, Catherine lifted her eyes up to the forest just beyond the channel and city walls. A cloud of birds, disturbed by something or another, suddenly flew up from the distant treetops. Watching their flight, the girl started to review the past two weeks.

Thomas _had_, in fact, visited her home more than once during the week they had officially become friends. Usually pleading some pressing business that took him downtown, he somehow managed to drop by and spend an hour or so talking with her, her family, or whatever friends happened to be around at the moment. She enjoyed his company, and her younger sisters had already claimed him as a 'second George'—though they did not call him that. He had even brought his cousin down the last time (they were doing something military down at the guardhouse) and Frederick, too, had become fast friends with her sisters and flattered her mother outrageously. It was quite amazing to think that all this had happened just last week. Just in the span of four days, her life had been altered to include these two young men. All for the sake of friendship with the prince.

But then the following week, Thomas had said he would be unable to visit due to military training. And she could not visit him—not that she would ever go up to the palace without a proper invitation—because Elizabeth needed help preparing for moving to Dean. The carriages had already come the day before to take her older sister and the majority of her belongings to the city on the plains. Tomorrow morning the rest of the family would be joining her—waking up early, packing the coaches, and leaving the capital for Dean.

Then the next week, Elizabeth would be married, and somehow life would return to normal.

Or as normal as life could be while being friends with the prince.

A sudden gasp broke off her thoughts at this moment, and she glanced over to see Eira pointing out towards the harbor.

"Oh look—the recruits are in training down at the docks!"

Her friends followed her gaze and discovered that she was, indeed, quite right. Several vague, man-shaped specks could be seen lined up on the docks of the city. Most of them seemed to be shirtless—though it was slightly hard to tell at this distance.

"In training? What for?" Henrietta asked, leaning forward to get a better view.

"Military training. Don't you know they conduct sessions during the summer?" Abruptly, Eira let out another delighted gasp, "And now the Torren men are challenging our boys to a competition! My word, they're _tan_!"

Catherine frowned, "Eira, I really don't think you should be gazing at them like that. What would your mother say?"

She snorted, "Please, Katie, just because you're as modest as a mouse doesn't mean we all are. That one on the end—he's so handsome!"

Janette rolled her eyes, "You can't see anything but the fact that he's got his shirt off."

"Apparently that's enough." Isobel remarked under her breath.

"And now the rest of the Corona men are doing it! Hmmm, they'd be a bit more impressive if they weren't quite so pale…"

Catherine sighed, "I thought they had better sense."

Isobel shrugged, replying mildly, "Not when it comes to showing-off. My Aunt Valerie told me just yesterday that when men get together they absolutely have to flex their muscles. It's part of their nature."

"Thank Heaven it is." Eira added, leaning even further over the railing. "Seriously, girls, look at them! They've started swimming!"

"Janette, make sure she doesn't topple down onto some sort of fruit cart." Isobel said, shaking her head in resignation.

Janette groaned, "Really, Eira, ever since you've turned nineteen you think every man is a gift from God."

"Aren't they?"

"Some would argue with you on that point. But, dear, you're going to fall over…"

Isobel watched as the recruits and Torren men dove into the channel. It seemed they were going by teams, with nine men per group. As the most recent swimmers clambered onto the dock, there seemed to be a rallying cry of voices rising up on the sea wind. The men were cheering their comrades onward.

"Katie, didn't you say the prince was doing military training this week?"

"Yes, that's why I haven't seen him." Catherine replied, her voice suddenly growing tenser in the face of the renewed argument.

"Wonder if he's down there now…" Isobel murmured, watching out of the corner of her eye as her friend started staring at the water.

"Oh, so _now_ you're looking? Hoping to see his royal-."

"Shush, Isobel."

Isobel's grin, which had already been rather pronounced, widened.

Catherine squinted, trying to focus on the recruits down at the dock. They still appeared to be nothing more than indistinct man-shapes. There was a possibility in the form of the tallest member of the Corona team, but she could not be sure… maybe if he—great, now the man had just leapt into the water.

Sighing, she leaned back from the railing.

"Is he there?" Isobel asked curiously.

She shook her head, "I don't know."

"Girls, I'm hungry." Janette announced abruptly. "And Eira's making comments that she probably shouldn't in broad daylight."

"Let's go to 'Ye Cosy Nooke'." Isobel suggested, rolling her eyes as Eira let out a delighted laugh.

Catherine frowned, "I've never heard of that restaurant."

"It's a teashop on Bond Street, near the main plaza. It's not far from here." Said Henrietta.

The girl nodded, responding warningly, "All right, but we can't stay out too long. I've got to get back and help finish packing for Dean."

Janette began to walk forward, "Katie, relax. You can worry about Dean later."

"_You_ can say that because _your_ sister's not the one getting married."

"I should hope she isn't. Esther's two years younger than I am." Janette glanced back at the railing. "Eira, come on, we need to get lunch!"

"Coming!" Eira left off from her perch and joined them just as they were starting down a stairway.

"Did you see which team won, Eira?" Henrietta asked interestedly.

"I think our boys did—but I couldn't tell because _someone_ kept complaining she was starving."

Janette protested, "I _am_ starving! And anyway, the Torren men were obviously going to win. They're better swimmers."

Isobel smirked, "Not necessarily. Corona has talented men who are more than a match for those sailors from the peninsula. Right, Katie?"

Catherine noticed the expression on her friend's face and merely replied with a quiet: "Possibly."

* * *

After his recruits secured a successful victory, a satisfied Captain Dansk suspended military training for the day and allowed the men off early to celebrate. The prince and six of his comrades, after drying off and changing into common dress, decided to take a stroll down the wharf. All of them were sons of noblemen, and a few had attended the same university as the heir to the throne. Thus, it was a party of equals, in certain respects.

"Goliath, you are wot the old officers call unstoppable! How did you manage to get past that Torren fellow?" Frederick asked, thumping his cousin cheerfully on the back.

Before Thomas could respond, however, another of the men—Roderick Macintosh—cut in, "Because Tom knew Dansk have his royal hide if he didn't."

There was a chorus of laughter from the rest of the men.

"Dansk looked as if he was about to spit fire when those chaps called Corona secondary. I'm surprised Tom didn't part the channel in order to reach the docks in time." Daniel, one of Duke Montague's nephews, said.

"Yes, well, I _did_ reach the docks in time and that means-," Thomas glanced around his comrades, singling them out, "-you, you, you, you, you, _and_ you, Rod, all owe me a favor."

Frederick frowned, "You don't mean-?"

"Yes, Freddy, you too.

"But Goliath-."

"How about letting me win at cards?" Thomas suggested.

Roderick clicked his tongue, "Tough luck there, Tom. Freddy only knows how to play with trick cards."

Frederick narrowed his eyes, retorting, "For the last time, I didn't cheat! It's not my fault you lot are terrible at playing cards."

"Man from Livesley claims he didn't cheat—that's a laugh right there." Walter commented.

"Just because I'm from the best town in the kingdom doesn't mean that you have to start making remarks on my character." Frederick replied stiffly.

Edward grinned, "Best town, he says? And what does he call the capital?"

"Mistake on the map." Roderick answered casually.

"Now _that_ sounds like Livesley."

The rest of the men, excepting Thomas and his cousin, laughed.

Thomas sighed, "All right—all right, leave off on Freddy. He's the one who got us the lead, remember?"

"Aye, I suppose so." James, another one of Duke Montague's nephews (he had a lot of them), assented.

"Now James, you don't have to agree with the man because he'll be paying our salaries in ten years." Roderick reminded him, rolling his eyes.

"No, but I'll agree with him if he's right. And he is—we would've never gotten past those Torren sailors unless Freddy beat out that one man. And he was fast."

Frederick smiled, buffing his nails casually on his shirt, "Now, now, Jimmy—don't lay on the flattery that thick—you're making my head big."

"-_er_." Added Edward, earning another round of laughter.

Walter squinted up at the sky, "How about we go down to the plaza for some lunch? I haven't smelled food since Dansk roared in my face this morning and I got a whiff of his breakfast."

"What'd he have?" Daniel asked interestedly.

"Oatmeal as made by Mrs. Dansk herself. Had to have had raisins in it."

"Why raisins?"

Edward grinned wickedly, "Let's just say Captain Dansk does not have the most cooperative of _systema digestorium_."

"Plain language, Ed, _please_." Roderick begged, rolling his eyes.

"He visits the privy a lot." Frederick answered loudly.

The man looked slightly surprised, "Ah. Well that explains why he's so bad tempered."

"As well as a lot of other things…" Edward remarked under his breath as they turned into an alley leading to the main plaza.

Thomas climbed up the steps, leading the way through the shadowy stairwell between one of the government buildings and a well-known inn. His feet hit pavement with a loud snap that made passersby jump and watch as the group of recruits emerged from the passage and into the sunlight of the square.

Frederick swept his arm towards the buildings surrounding them. "Well, Walt old boy, you've got the whole blooming plaza as an option. Where do you want to eat?"

Walter considered the café, pubs, and various restaurants located near the square, mumbling their names under his breath. Meanwhile, Roderick and Edward were comparing their biceps—much to the amusement of a few young ladies walking past. James had started a conversation with Daniel about Lord Clayton, and Frederick began to make outlandish suggestions just to annoy Walter. Thomas, meanwhile, had started to meander along the edge of the plaza, listening to the voices of his comrades and the general rabble of the market.

He thought about the training exercises of the day, and he felt a surge of satisfaction remembering the race against the Torren men. Their opponents were strong swimmers, but he and his comrades had pulled through to a victory so sweet that Dansk had let them off early. Nothing could make this day any more perfect…

Then an unexpected picture passed through his mind. It was Catherine, Lord Brian's daughter, sitting on her father's rooftop in the light of the setting sun. Thomas's mind broke off from the recently won contest to pursue another topic: the girl whom he now considered a friend. He could still remember every detail of the time spent over at her house washing windows. It had been a day unlike any he had never experienced, and that, coupled with the small visits he had managed the days following, had somehow firmly cemented the girl into his life. She was important, in a way.

And he had not yet put a name to what it was. A friendship, yes—but the fact that she was female set everything at a different level entirely.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the rest of the marketplace bustle and chatter.

"Eira, really, there was no call for that."

Thomas turned his head so sharply his neck hurt. He spotted Catherine in an instant and stared, almost mesmerized, as she and a cluster of girls (including the alarmingly curious one he had met at her house) trotted down a side street.

Before he knew what he was doing, the prince had started to move towards that same boulevard.

Frederick, ducking Walter's annoyed slap, glanced over at his cousin. He frowned, calling: "Goliath! Where are you going? Walt here almost made up his mind!"

Thomas, regaining some sense of what he was doing, called back in confusion. "What?"

"I said, Walt almost-!" Frederick was cut off as Walter clamped his hand over his mouth.

"Is there anyway to keep you quiet for one second?" Walter demanded angrily, keeping a firm hold of the struggling man.

Despite not being able to speak, Frederick answered: "Mhmm-mm."

Walter frowned, "What did he say?"

"He said he wants you to toss him into the harbor." Edward replied, grinning.

"Mhham! Arhgmeh!" Frederick yelled, glaring at Edward.

Roderick, resting his arm upon Edward's shoulder, nodded, "He said do it quickly before he changes his mind, Walt."

"Um-." Before Walter could say anything else, Frederick had broken free and launched himself at both Roderick and Edward. A scuffle ensued, during which several insults were exchanged and few blows landed.

Thomas walked over, his arms folded over his chest as he watched the three men roll across the pavement. Raising his voice (so loudly that at its release he made pigeons take off in fright) the prince shouted: "Hey! Pride of the king's army!"

The trio froze, glancing over to where Thomas was, seeing a faint smirk on his face.

Frederick peeled his face off the cobblestones, asking irritably, "Wot, Goliath?"

"What do you gentlemen say to a lunch with a group of pretty young ladies?"

His cousin frowned, considering the proposition. Then, spitting out a few grains of sand, he nodded, "All right, then."

* * *

Henrietta drummed her fingers upon the table, muttering over her menu, "I think I'll have the—no, I'll try a—no, that's too fattening. Hmmm… how about the-?"

"For goodness sake, Henrietta, just make up your mind already!" Isobel snapped, annoyed with the girl's apparent indecision.

"Isobel-," Catherine said quietly, "-let the poor girl choose her lunch in peace. You're the only one who's ever been here before and we don't know what they have."

Isobel rolled her eyes, "I told you what they have—it's a café! Sandwiches, soup, coffee, tea-."

"Lemon pie?" Henrietta suggested, looking over the top of her menu to Isobel.

She snorted, "That's for dessert."

"Then I might just skip lunch and go straight for the dessert."

"Sounds like a topping idea!" Frederick declared, plopping himself down in an empty seat between Eira and Henrietta.

Isobel frowned, "Wha-?"

"Couldn't have put it better myself." Roderick said, pulling up a chair on Eira's other side.

"Who are-?" Eira started, looking between the men with puzzled interest.

Edward swung another chair around and straddled it, setting his arms upon the back. "Agreed. How'd you fare, James?"

"I think this chair might be broken." James murmured uncomfortably, twisting in his seat.

"Nonsense!" Walter commented, pulling up a chair so that he sat between Isobel and Janette. "You just need to balance yourself on the three legs, James."

"Yeah." Daniel grunted, bringing over a chair for himself and cramming it between Walter and Janette. "Balance, James. Balance."

Catherine, having gotten over her initial shock at the men's appearance, began to speak. "Gentlemen, I don't think that-."

Thomas set a chair beside her and sat down. "Good afternoon, Cat."

She stared at him, feeling rather perplexed at the faintly pleased grin he wore beneath that mustache of his. Eventually she replied slowly, "Good afternoon."

"Brilliant weather we're having."

"I suppose…"

Frederick glared across the table. "Walt—Walt, what do you think you're doing? Go and get Jimmy a better chair."

"Call the waiter over." Walter retorted, shuffling through Isobel's erstwhile menu.

Henrietta started and quickly turned the pages of her own menu. "What? No—I haven't decided yet!"

"Henrietta, really, I think that's the least of our problems at the moment." Isobel said, trying to ignore the giggles coming from Eira.

"And that, darling, is why they call me Rod." Roderick finished with a smirk as the pretty girl attempted to stop laughing.

Frederick, seeing that his territory was being encroached upon, leaned over to hiss: "Yes, because he got smacked about by the schoolmaster's cane. Got about as much sense as a fencepost too."

The recruit glared warningly, "Freddy, if you-."

Frederick interrupted loudly, "I say, Goliath, you've got a big booming voice liable to be heard by the deaf—why don't you explain wot's going on?"

"Yes, why _don't_ you explain what's going on?" Catherine demanded, her green eyes narrowing.

Thomas shrugged simply, "All right." He lifted his voice, smiling at the group, "If you would be so gracious, ladies, my comrades and I would very much like to buy you lunch."

"On the condition we get to spend it in your company." Roderick said, winking at Eira and, to his surprise, earning himself a wink in return.

"Only, if you would not mind." Thomas added, nodding politely to Catherine.

Isobel (having now just recognized that the prince had joined them) tapped her friend on the shoulder. "Katie, the man's talking to you."

"I'm aware of that."

"Tell him 'yes'." Eira said, clearly enjoying the dark eyes of Roderick Macintosh.

"Eira, I'm not sure-."

Isobel nudged her again, urging: "Go on, Katie. The waiter's coming."

Catherine sighed, "Very well."

"Good." Thomas grinned cheerfully, "Now, can I borrow your menu?"

Waiting for the following meal, as well as the time throughout it, allowed Catherine generous opportunity to sort out who these young men were. Thomas and Frederick, obviously, she knew already. The others, however, she seemed to recognize but she required the prince's help in terms of names.

Eventually, she had shifted them all into respective categories. There was Frederick, of course, who was flattering Eira outrageously while taste-testing everyone else's lunch. His competitor, Roderick Macintosh, was the handsome, dark-haired one who seemed to think of himself as the group's leader. James was the humbler sort who stammered under Henrietta's questions and apparently found her interest quite unnerving. James' cousin, Daniel, was the intellectual one who would eventually end up with Duke Montague's vast fortune (Janette found this information rather intriguing). Walter was the indecisive man doomed forever to be a bachelor due to his lack of regard or concern for ladies. And then there was Edward, the cheeky joker who struck barbs at everybody, including the prince, and offered no apologies for his jests.

Catherine had seen these men at parties before. She remembered being introduced to Roderick and Daniel, but somehow the vague memories in her head did not match up with the young men sitting at the table. In person, and in their company, she found them to be somehow changed.

"You're right, of course." Thomas replied little more than forty minutes later as they strolled past the market shops. "Those men you met at the parties? They weren't them. That was a mere façade dedicated to winning the admiration of ladies, their fathers, and whatever future political connections happened to be around. The men you saw today are the boys I grew up with."

"And are they still boys?" She asked, watching Eira, Roderick and Frederick break away to visit a nearby clothing store.

He smiled and gave a small nod, "Well, I'll let you decide that for yourself. But really, what is a man but the shadow of the boy he always was and will forever be?"

"You realize that you're including yourself in that comment."

"I do. But, if you haven't seen that already, I'd be quite disappointed in you."

"Oh, I've seen that. It showed up most clearly when you were playing 'lion tamer' with my sisters." Catherine said, glancing up at him.

Thomas laughed slightly, "Ah yes—and how are your sisters?"

"Very well. They're happy and excited about the wedding."

"Next week, right?"

"Correct."

They continued to talk, trotting down the street as more of their group peeled off to examine the various wares and items for sale that afternoon. An enthusiastic Henrietta dragged James and Walter over to listen to a street musician, claiming that he sounded like Gregorio the Great from Eldesland. Janette and Daniel had already retreated into a shady bookshop five minutes after lunch, and thus it was that only Catherine, Thomas, and Isobel remained.

Isobel, having dropped back somewhat, looked between the tall prince and her best friend. The young man had his arms tucked neatly behind his back, his head tilted to the sky as he listened to Catherine speaking quietly. It was almost as if they had forgotten about her completely.

Isobel, seeing what an opportune moment this was, decided to make herself scarce.

"Oh—I think I see a—a dress over there! I'll just go have a look at it. Don't stop for me!" She had bolted out of sight by the time Thomas and Catherine turned around.

Thomas frowned, "She sees a dress in the baker's shop?"

"I don't know—she's always been a little odd. She was the girl who was with me that time you came over."

"The royal accountant's daughter?"

"That's her."

Thomas frowned as they turned to resume their trip down the street. "Hmm… I think I know her father. He helps me when the sums get to be too much."

Catherine smirked, "_The_ 'sums'? You make it sound like an ailment."

"When you are as bad at arithmetic as I am, Cat, it _is_ an ailment." He said, ducking below a low-hanging clothesline as they entered an alley. "Anyway, what were we talking about?"

"Lizzie—she left for Dean yesterday."

"Right, and you've only just escaped the house today."

She sighed, "Yes, it's been an absolute nightmare. Running from one shop to the other checking up on contracts—writing to the duke's family and getting last minute reservations by guests we don't remember inviting. We haven't even gotten to Dean yet and we're all about ready to give up. I'm half-afraid that by the time we arrive to the city tomorrow, Lizzie and George will have somehow kidnapped a reverend, gotten married, and skipped out of the country."

"And then what will you do?" The prince asked, leading her down a flight of stairs and out onto the wharf.

Catherine grinned at him, "Apologize to everyone who wanted to come, while, at the same time, secretly breathing a sigh of relief."

He smiled, "You probably wouldn't be the only one."

The girl shook her head as they began to pass by the various stalls of the dockside merchants. "Well, as maid of honor, I _do_ have some interest in seeing the thing dealt with properly—even to the very exhausted end."

"To the very _exhausted_ end?"

"It will probably be a long night. The wedding is in the late afternoon so the reception will most likely last into the early morning." Catherine paused at a craftswoman's stand, examining the woven grass baskets for sale.

Thomas watched her running her fingers over the fine handiwork of the basket weavers. The strong breeze blowing in from the sea stirred at her brown hair, blowing a wayward strand across her forehead. As she turned her head, the sun hit her face at such an angle that he saw a sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks. It was not surprising he had never noticed them before—they were very faint. The addition was a pleasant one, however, and when she glanced at him he suddenly had to find something to say.

Jumping on the topic they had been discussing, Thomas blurted, "I have been to weddings before—I've even been _in_ weddings when I was younger. But I—I never quite understood why there was a special position next to the bride. What does the maid of honor actually _do_?"

"Be honorable, because the bride is probably not going to be." Catherine replied, turning away from the basket-weaver's stall.

Thomas smirked, "Really? Is that true?"

She laughed, "No, I'm only joking. Truth is, I'm there to keep Lizzie from going insane, even if I lose my own sanity in the process."

"You're the buffer to the rest of the poor defenseless people out there." He remarked as they wandered nearer to the edge of the quay.

"Precisely."

"Thank you. I appreciate your sense of self-sacrifice. It's citizens like you who keep this kingdom running. The politicians don't do anything."

She smiled, leaning upon a mooring-post to view the ships sailing in and out of the harbor. "Oh really? Politicians do nothing, then?"

"Aside from washing windows and crashing lunch parties, those in power have very little to do with anything else." Thomas grinned.

Catherine raised her eyebrows, "At least you understand how hard it will be. I mean, it _will_ be loads of fun, don't get me wrong. But I don't think I've ever worked harder on something in my entire life."

"Are you happy for her?" Thomas asked, watching as one particularly misguided vessel managed to get itself tangled up in the lines of a fishing boat.

Catherine nodded, "Yes, I am."

"Then the hard work is worth it." He declared, raising his voice so she could hear him over the angry quarrel springing up between the fisherman and the yachter.

"It is worth it." She started to walk down the wharf again. "And, Tommy, to answer your question in terms of position—my job will be to keep track of George's ring, make sure Lizzie's veil and dress look pretty, and keep the rest of my sisters quiet during the ceremony."

The prince sidestepped a team of men unloading a ship, "Are all your sisters bridesmaids?"

"Every single one. Including little Georgiana who has never been happier about dressing up. Normally she hates wearing shoes, but Lizzie asked her nicely so she's willing to give it a try. After all, it's not every day your sister gets married."

"And how does Lizzie feel about the whole thing?"

She shrugged, listening to the guardhouse bell sing out the half-hour. "Nervous, in some ways. But I think she's quite—quite ready for it all to be over with. She's ready to be George's wife."

"What about being a duchess?"

A sly smile appeared on her face, "For _that_, she was born ready."

"So she will be a good addition to the nobility of Dean." Thomas commented with satisfaction.

"Tommy, she could out-noble you in a heartbeat."

"Is that an insult?"

"An observation." Catherine laughed at the amusement on his face. "You do realize that for a prince you're not very good at acting the part?"

He shrugged, "Slow reflexes."

"Is that what it is?"

"Yes. I'm afraid I never quite adapted to the role of 'being prince'. Doing the job, looking stern, counting up taxes—I can do _that_ just fine. But unlike my good friend Prince Dalen of Salisbury, I've never mastered the technique of aristocracy."

"The technique of obnoxious arrogance, you mean?" She asked sarcastically, remembering all too well the behavior of the prince of Salisbury.

He winced, "Ah—I see you haven't forgotten that dance at the palace. I do remind you that it _was_ somewhat my fault."

"Yet I've never thanked you properly." Catherine smiled, shaking her head, "He was not a pleasant man—rude and smelling of vinegar."

"Vinegar?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I hate the smell of vinegar."

"That seems to be the opinion of most people. It _is_ a very good preservative, however." Thomas pointed out cheerfully.

"Be that as it may, it smells awful. That's part of the reason why I strongly dislike canning vegetables. But-" she sighed, stopping at another booth to see the merchandise for sale, "-with Lizzie married off in Dean, I'll be the only one to help Mother when that time of the year rolls around."

"And you will help her because you are that kind." The prince murmured, smiling down at her.

"Or unlucky." She seemed to appreciate his compliment, however, and it was not until they continued their walk that she spoke again. "So what have _you_ been doing all week, Tommy?"

He groaned, "Military training, mostly. Occasionally I would get the chance to read and sort through reports—but that's only if I was very, very inept at escaping work."

"Military training—hmm… does that include swimming across the channel?"

He looked at her, clearly surprised by her knowledge.

Catherine shrugged, "We—my friends and I—noticed a group of recruits training down by the docks."

"Did you really?"

She nodded, "And, considering your hair is still wet-," here he grinned, brushing back his hair, "-I'm assuming you were down there?"

"Yes I was. We've been down there every morning to do laps and diving exercises and whatnot. Around this time of day, we usually would hike out to the fields west of the forest for equestrian training. But Captain Dansk gave us all the day off thanks to the outcome of a certain contest."

"Contest?"

"Did you happen to notice a group of Torren men joining us down at the docks?"

"We did."

Thomas grinned smugly, "Well, we were challenged by them to participate in a race across the channel. Nine men to each team, and the leader of the team was to perform the feat twice. First team done—wins."

Catherine heard the pride in his voice. "The men of Corona won?"

"Yes we did." He replied happily.

"You sound quite pleased."

"I should be, considering that I'm talking to you now because of it."

Before Catherine could respond, a rather abrupt shout alerted them to Frederick's presence behind them.

"Hey! Goliath! Kitty-cat! Slow down for a bloke, will you?"

They turned to stare as Frederick sprinted towards him. He was not the most adept runner in the world, nor did he dodge obstacles very well. In the thirty yards it took him to reach them, Frederick managed to accidentally knock over a stack of wine barrels, shove a rather startled sailor into the harbor, broke through a crowd of ladies, and upend a wagon of cabbages. Ignoring the yelps, shocked gasps, and pained yells of 'my cabbages!' he left in his wake, Frederick slowed the last few feet and staggered over to his cousin.

Setting his arm upon the taller man's shoulder, Frederick took a deep breath, let it out wheezily, and took yet another. Then, when he had recovered enough, he panted, "So, Kitty-cat, how's it been with you?"

"All right." Catherine replied, smiling at the grinning man.

Thomas frowned, "Freddy, you just knocked over-."

He waved his hand absently in the direction of the chaos he caused, "They'll be peachy. Just—maybe—maybe we should get out before they find the old torches and forks?"

"What are you-?"

"Hey!" The sailor—who was a remarkably brawny fellow—had just pulled himself out of the harbor. "Stop that idiot!"

Frederick's eyes widened, "Sweet muffins I've got to scoot!" He took off running, nearly knocking over another cart in the process.

Both Thomas and Catherine watched as a mob of very angry females, sailors, and a man howling about his ruined vegetables, all gave chase after Frederick.

Catherine asked concernedly, "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"He can outrun them. In fact, I'm almost positive I know where we'll find him hiding." The prince responded confidently.

"Where?"

"Ever been to the square called Thatcher's Courtyard?"

She nodded slowly, "Yes, but it's one of the smaller markets in the city."

"There's a little coffee shop there—wedged between the gentleman's clothes store and the stables of the _Admiral Benbow_. He'll be outside waiting for us."

"Will he still be in one piece?"

Thomas grinned, "Oh, I don't know. How about we go find out?"

* * *

The next morning was a very foggy one. Long, dense streams of mist rolled in from the crashing sea to fill the streets and open spaces of the city. The cover gave a melancholy feel to the sky, blocking out the light of the stars above, making obscure shapes in the near darkness of the early dawn. There was a distinct chill to the air, a coldness soon to disappear with the melting heat of the rising sun. But, as of yet, the sun had not risen, and the fog remained.

Catherine, cradling a large suitcase in her arms, walked carefully downstairs in the dim light. She nearly stumbled twice, but eventually managed to reach the front door with relative ease. Then, entering an outside world of mist, the girl moved quickly towards the two, vague-shaped coaches waiting in the road. Pinpricks of light—from the glowing pipes of the coachmen—were all that penetrated the thick cloud. She saw one tending to the horses at the second coach, while another dark figure stood on the roof, strapping down the family's luggage. At the gate, Catherine passed her burden on to the only idle worker, and started back to the house to fetch the last case.

She passed her father and the head coachman at the door. Both were discussing the cost and time of the trip and paid her no attention. Then, as she started upstairs, Catherine heard her mother talking quietly to her sisters. Her mother's voice was soothing, trying to explain to the girls why they had to rise up before daybreak. Catherine knew, as she entered her bedroom, that none of her sisters had expected this need of waking so early. It had taken her and her mother at least fifteen minutes to get them all up—cutting into their travel time severely. Thankfully, however, the coaches were almost packed and soon they would be on their way to Dean.

Catherine paused as this thought struck her. She glanced up from where she knelt next to the remaining case. Her surroundings—dimly lit as they were by a guttering candle—were familiar. Yet… there was something painfully missing.

Feeling a stinging at the corner of her eyes, Catherine smiled, whispering, "Honestly, Lizzie, you're not even married yet and I miss you."

She picked up her bag, stood, and deliberately blew out the candle. Without another look she started back downstairs.

It took them nearly another ten minutes to get all the girls walking out the door and into the coaches. The whole ordeal occurred with much complaining, yawning, mumbles about interesting dreams experienced during the night, and gradual movement. Lady Marie had her youngest three with her in the first coach, while Catherine would be riding in the second with the elder two. Lord Brian was to alternate between sitting next to the driver of either carriage as well as with his wife and daughters in the first coach. The trip would take longer than normal due to the extra weight of the carriages, but with hope they would reach Dean by the late afternoon.

Catherine helped Emma into the carriage, "Be careful. The step is rather high."

"Katie?"

"Yes dear?"

"I left something." Emma slid into place next to Jane.

Her older sister shook her head, "We're going to be leaving in five minutes."

"But I really need it—it's my music box I wanted to show George's sister Lucy." She pouted, her eyes pleading.

Catherine sighed, "Fine. Where is it?"

"On the table by the couch."

"I'll be back." The girl hurried past her father and the coachman again and entered the darkness of the sitting room. Fumbling, she located the requested music box—a present from her Aunt Martha—and went back outside.

As Catherine neared the coach, she noticed a dark box lying on the pavestones. One of the coachmen must have forgotten to load it, and now they were too busy with the horses to help.

"Emma-," she handed her the music box through the window, "-I'll be back in a moment."

Catherine rounded the carriage and lifted the box into her hands. It was a fine box, dignified, if old, gilding around the corners and faded initials imprinted on the lid. It was also quite heavy—and Catherine suddenly realized it was one Elizabeth had left to be brought later.

She groaned, hefting it up higher, "My word, Lizzie, what on earth did you put in this thing?"

Catherine lifted the luggage and set it against the side of the carriage roof, hoping to somehow tip it onto the top. She rose up on tiptoe, determinedly shoving at the trunk. It really was _remarkably_ heavy. Determined, Catherine gave an impressive shove upward so that it rested, haphazardly, on the edge of the roof. Then it slowly started to slip backwards towards her face…

There was a loud slamming sound as a man's hand struck the side of the trunk, effectively catching it in its fall. One of the workers had noticed her difficulties.

"Oh, thank you, I didn't think I could get-." She stopped, suddenly aware that the hand holding back the luggage belonged to the prince of Corona.

"Tommy?"

"Excuse me." He moved over to get a better hold on the case. Then, with much more ease than she could have ever done, Thomas secured the luggage's position on the coach roof. He grinned, his face outlined starkly against surrounding fog. Then he turned to smile at her, "Good morning, Cat."

"Good morning." She gazed at him, trying to understand why he was standing before her. "Wha—what are you doing here?"

He shrugged, "I had some business in town."

"At what time?" Catherine asked, incredulous that royal duties called the prince out at such an hour.

"Oh, you know, three… in the afternoon."

Her eyes widened, "Tommy, why on earth are you-?"

Thomas interrupted her, stating clearly, "Before you say anything, know that it was my choice to come here. I wanted to see you off." He nodded at the coach, "After all, it will be at least half a week before I'll see you at the wedding. I thought I should—I—I wanted to say-…" his voice died as he suddenly realized he had no clue why he had gotten out of bed, dressed in the dark, and practically jogged all the way down to Lord Brian's house so early in the morning.

He did not have a reason—he had just done it. And now he had to explain himself.

"I wanted to say goodbye, I suppose." Thomas murmured, looking at her. "And have a good—have a fantastic trip."

Catherine gazed at the man, not entirely sure what to think. Then, the head coachman's call cut through the still morning: "Everyone on?"

"Oh—I forgot." She hastily went over to the carriage door, not noticing that Thomas followed her.

He opened the door, helping her into the coach while ignoring the impatient hiss of disapproval the driver gave him. Closing the door, he stepped back as the carriages began to roll into the fog, the clops of hooves and creaking of wheels fading away.

Thomas smiled, whispering, "I'll see you in Dean, Cat. And at the wedding—I'll dance with you."


	11. Night before the wedding

**Author Note**: Short chapter, despite the amount of time it took to write... :) sorry about the wait, you guys are awesome to be willing to wait so long... and I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the actual wedding sequence (that's for Chapter 12). Oh, and I also decided to start naming the chapters on this one like I'm doing with Family Life :D because I think it would be fun :D AND, speaking of Family Life, I'm currently dealing with Writer's Block on that one so it might be a while before I update on that... but you guys really shouldn't be surprised-I haven't been the best at posting regularly... and I feel bad about that... but not too bad! :D haha, anyway, just wanted to also say Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate it! and for those who don't celebrate, I'm sure you all have something amazing to thank God about anyway! :D Hope you guys have a wonderful holiday :D God bless you all! :D

P.S. Thank _you_, readers, for waiting, faving, reading, and reviewing! You make me happy :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Catherine liked Dean. She had been to the city only a handful of times in her life, but she had always liked it. She admired the broad, brick avenues, the little flower gardens tucked behind houses, and a tidiness that seemed to be the rule of law. She loved to hear the musical calls of the shepherds as they brought their flock in from the fields—according to George, Dean prospered because they had 'happy' sheep. She also liked to sit at the window of her bedroom and gaze out at the surrounding green fields as the sun went down. But her most favorite thing to do was listen to her sister talk about the city that would be her home for the rest of her life.

And now it was the night before the wedding, the sun had set, and the world was quiet.

Catherine sat at the open window, breathing in the sweet scent of grass. Elizabeth was still in the bath—she could hear splashing through the door, which had been left ajar. She could also hear a soft singing, and thought she recognized a few lyrics belonging to the melody George had been humming throughout the day. It was a quiet tune, gentle and lilting, with the distinct hope of promise.

"She's the fairest lass that I've ever seen, and I'll wed her in the morning with this ring, oh that lovely sweet lady of Dean…'"

Catherine smiled, glancing over at the bathroom. She lifted her voice, calling, "Almost done, 'lovely sweet lady of Dean'?"

Her sister stopped singing to reply: "Almost. Don't rush a bride though—apparently we're known to get thoroughly irritable."

"So now that you're a bride you're going to be irritable?" Catherine asked, her smile widening in amusement.

"I've been irritable all my life, dear." Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom, wrapped comfortably in a bathrobe, "Now I just have an excuse for it."

"Poor George."

Elizabeth grinned, rubbing her hair with a towel, "Oh, don't worry, Katie. He knows."

"And he's _still_ marrying you?"

"I think it has to do with my natural beauty." Her sister declared, throwing her head back dramatically and dropping her towel onto the floor.

Catherine snorted.

"Just because you're jealous, Katie dear, doesn't mean that you need to cast snorts at my gorgeousness."

She rolled her eyes, "You're right, Lizzie. I'm just jealous and I can't help it."

"At least you're not afraid to admit the truth."

Catherine smirked, watching as her sister rummaged through her chest of drawers, pulling out a nightgown. Elizabeth threw the gown over the back of a chair and then yawningly declared: "All right, Katie, you've got to keep me entertained tonight or I'll go mad with the waiting. What are you going to do?"

"I could brush your hair if you want me to." Her sister offered, walking over to sit on her bed, brush in hand.

Elizabeth gazed at her, "Would you really?"

"Lizzie, it's the night before your wedding—I'll do anything you want."

Smiling, Elizabeth came over and took a seat at the end of her sister's bed. Soon Catherine was running the brush through her sister's hair, carefully curving the teeth of the brush in graceful, comforting arcs as they ran down the wet locks.

Elizabeth sighed in contentment, "That feels amazing… I hope you don't expect this kind of treatment when you get married. I'm afraid I'm not nearly as selfless as you are and I could never have the patience to brush wet hair for an hour."

"That's all right." Catherine replied candidly. "I don't have that amount of patience either."

"Fifteen minutes then?" Her sister asked, clearly hopeful.

"Okay, fifteen minutes. But-," she ran a neat, smooth stroke downward, "-I think that this calls for a story."

"What sort of story?"

"About how you met George."

Elizabeth frowned, murmuring, "Katie, I don't think-."

Catherine narrowed her eyes, whispering, "Now how did it start? Oh wait—I remember—it was a Thursday afternoon, Daddy was in his study with the son of the duke of Dean, and you were upstairs fuming."

"I wasn't fuming." Her sister corrected sternly.

"Yes you were. You were furious because Daddy was taking too long with talking to the nobleman. You wanted to ask him for money to buy a new dress—we had a party to go later that night. I can remember you exclaiming devastatingly that Lady Darla's daughter would capture the eye of Michael of Florence and _that_ would be the end of it."

"Michael? I liked _Michael_?" Elizabeth asked, sounding thunderstruck.

Catherine nodded, carefully parting her sister's hair, "Believe it or not, you did. Michael of Florence, who flirts with every girl he sees, had somehow or another won your attention."

"Michael…" Elizabeth frowned, tapping her chin. Then her eyes widened. "I remember! I started liking him after he shaved off that ridiculous mustache! Pity he's grown it back…"

"_Lizzie_." Her sister said reprovingly.

"I'm kidding. I could care less about the Heartbreaker of Florence now."

Catherine shrugged, "But a year ago, you did care. In fact, you cared so much that you stormed downstairs, ignoring the pleas of your _much_ more sensible younger sister-," here Elizabeth let out a slight laugh, "-and marched over to Daddy's office."

"And then what did I do, oh fairy of wisdom?"

"You burst into the room, decrying the villainy of our father for talking too long about cows and pastureland. The duke's son, gentleman that he is and quite tired of listening to Daddy drone on about cows, rose to his feet to greet you. And then it happened."

Elizabeth gave a soft sigh, a dreamy smile spreading across her face.

"You saw him—George of Dean—the handsomest, most courteous, most wonderful man in the entire kingdom. You both just stared at each other, absolutely stunned that you had been living in the same world with this person and didn't know it until now. And then, without so much as another word—you bolted from the room like a frightened rabbit."

Her sister's smile disappeared, and Elizabeth turned around, retorting crossly, "I did not _bolt_, Katie."

"Then what did you do?" Catherine asked.

"I—I simply walked-."

"You ran upstairs, threw yourself on the bed and started crying your eyes out. You kept wailing about how you had just ruined your life forever—how you had embarrassed yourself half to death-."

"Katie!"

"And how he would hate you for all eternity-."

"Katie, no, that's not what I sa-!

"And how you wished you were dead. And you were sobbing all over the sheets and making an awful mess."

Elizabeth pouted, "It wasn't _that_ bad. Honestly, Katie, sometimes I think you exaggerate too much."

Her sister continued as if she had not heard the remark. "But, as you were threatening to join the convent, downstairs George was making a very interesting proposal to Daddy. He wanted to court you, and Daddy said yes. After all, George had rendered you speechless, and that was something no man had ever managed to do before."

"Now you're just making it up."

"And so, after trying to cry yourself dry for a full ten minutes, you sprang up, shouted something about having to see him one more time, and raced away. You had just reached the bottom of the steps and were rounding the staircase when you nearly ran into George. For a moment it seemed both of you had forgotten how to speak again. But then he said your name—which Daddy had kindly told him—and do you know what you said, Lizzie dear?"

"I'm not going to say it." Elizabeth folded her arms, shaking her head stubbornly.

"Oh, come on. As if I don't know already. Come on, George said 'Elizabeth?' and you said…?"

"No, Katie."

"And then you whispered, trembling, paler than the moon-," Catherine held the brush to her heart, moaning dramatically: "'I'm yours…'"

"Katie I didn't-," she seized a pillow, "-say-," she hit her with the pillow, "-that!"

Catherine danced out of her sister's reach, exclaiming: "Oh, George of Dean—oh George! Oh—o-oh!"

"Katie!" Elizabeth laughed, even as she tried to hit her with her pillow. "Katie, I never once-!"

"Let me fall into your arms, George—let me swoon as I've never swooned before-," Catherine gave a low sigh and fell back onto the bed, hand held to her forehead. "Let me sit at your feet forever in an eternal palace-," she dodged another blow from her sister, "-an eternal palace of stars…"

Elizabeth slapped her upside the head with her pillow, thoroughly messing up her sister's hair. Yet Catherine, giving a shuddering gasp, continued: "George, why do you take so long? George, why don't you marry me?"

"He _is_ marrying me—tomorrow afternoon. If you stopped groaning you might actually remember that."

Catherine beamed at her sister, only to receive another buffet of the pillow. Shoving the pillow aside, she asked, "But you _did_ faint, didn't you?"

"I didn't faint, Katie. I just wobbled a bit and he caught me." Elizabeth responded stiffly.

"And then what?"

A slow smile crossed her sister's face, and she replied, "And then I decided I quite liked being wrapped in the man's arms and pretended to faint again."

"Does that really work?" Catherine asked, curious.

She nodded, "If you do it right. My fake-swoon worked so well the dear man actually picked me up and carried me to the couch. He was so gentle-," Elizabeth smiled softly, "-so kind… and he smelled so handsome…"

"He _smelled_ handsome?"

"His cologne. I don't know what it is but I wanted to bathe in the stuff." She shrugged, "Now I'll just have to settle with George smelling like it all the time."

"_Can_ you settle with that, then?"

Elizabeth smiled, "I think so."

Catherine rolled over onto her stomach, propping her elbows up and setting her chin in her hands. Then, after a moment's worth of gazing at her sister, she asked quietly, "Are you scared?"

"Scared? Scared about what?"

"About getting married."

Elizabeth frowned, "To George?"

Her sister rolled her eyes, "No, to Robin Hood—_yes_ to George."

"There's no need to get sarcastic."

Catherine simply glared at her, raising her eyebrow meaningfully.

"All right, Katie, if you insist. And by that question, I suppose you mean am I scared about leaving my family and going to live with a man in his house?"

She nodded.

Elizabeth pursed her lips, thinking. "Well, if you had asked me that before I met George, I would have said I was scared out of my mind. But, since I have met him—no."

"No?"

She smiled, explaining carefully: "Katie, what you've got to realize is that when you love somebody—I mean, truly love him—then you love everything about him. Every inch, every thought, every word, even every breath he takes becomes more important than anything you ever were. Granted, I suppose there are some things you won't love—like all his 'man-habits'." She shivered, muttering, "And you know what I'm talking about. When he sucks his teeth after dinner—_ugh_. But you do love him, despite his faults. And you trust him completely. And you want nothing more than to give everything that you can give to him. I mean, that's how I feel with George. I love the man more than I ever loved myself—and that's amazing. I want him to be sole recipient of everything I am and I know he wants the same for me."

"Lizzie… Lizzie that's beautiful." Catherine said, stunned that her sister had actually said such a thing.

Elizabeth tilted her head, "Well, it's true. Don't say I was never honest with you. I mean, as your older sister I know I haven't always been the most reliable person. But if there is one thing I won't lie about, Katie, is how much I love that man." She sighed, leaning back onto the bed to gaze up at the ceiling. "And I do love him. I love him so much that it's hard to think about anything else."

Catherine did not reply, watching as her sister absently fiddled with the sheets. Then Elizabeth continued speaking, even as she bunched the cloth within her hands.

"You know, Katie, it's actually selfless, in a way—and at the same time it makes you the most selfish person in the world. You want to be with him all the time. You don't care what anyone else wants. All that matters is what you want and what you want, is him. It's senseless… and it's wonderful…"

There was a sudden crashing sound, along with two muffled squeaks, as the door to the room abruptly burst open.

Elizabeth let out a shriek and jerked the sheets over herself, causing Catherine to slip off the bed and onto the floor.

"Sorry about that girls!" Frieta, looking rather bedraggled in her bathrobe and nightgown, pushed herself up from the floor. Mary, who was with her, also sat up and glanced around the room.

She frowned, mumbling vaguely, "Frieta, this isn't our room."

"No-," Catherine rose up from the floor, muttering, "-it most certainly is _not_! Now why on earth are you two rambling around the hallways and crashing into rooms at this time of night?"

Mary brightened, "Oh Katie, how are you?"

"Katie darling, we haven't seen you for ages!" Frieta declared cheerfully, smiling at her.

"We saw you both at dinner!" Elizabeth retorted, emerging from the sheets. "And really, _why_ are you two staggering into other people's rooms?"

"And Lizzie's here as well!" Mary exclaimed, quite pleased.

Frieta rolled her eyes, plopping down on the bed opposite the one her elder sisters occupied. "Of course Liz is here, Mary. Honestly, you would get lost on your way to the washroom and find yourself in Auxuria if I wasn't around to stop you."

"I was only saying how wonderful it was to see her. You don't have to get snippy." Mary replied crossly, taking a seat next to her.

"Katie, can you please close the door before any other unwanted guests come traipsing through?" Elizabeth moaned as her younger sisters began to argue about where Auxuria actually was.

Catherine nodded and walked over to shut the door, "Yes dear."

"Mary, Frieta, stop fussing." Elizabeth ordered, groaning. "I really don't want to have to deal with that tonight."

"Why is tonight any different?" Mary asked interestedly.

Her eldest sister sighed in exasperation, "Because, Mary, since you've evidently forgotten-,"

"I haven't forgotten! I know you're marrying George tomorrow!"

Frieta snorted, "Then why did you ask-?"

"Shush, Frieta!" Elizabeth interrupted, raising her hand. "I have to tell my dear, sweet little sisters-."

Catherine rolled her eyes, sensing an oncoming wave of dramatics. "Lizzie, really, you weren't like this a few minutes ago."

"I need to tell them, _Katie_-," her sister said meaningfully, "-one last bit of advice before I give my life and innocence over to my husband tomorrow afternoon."

Catherine took a seat next to her on the bed. "Somehow I doubt you ever had any innocence, Lizzie dear."

"Your 'innocence'?" Mary frowned, "What does that have to do with-?" She suddenly caught the look Frieta was giving her. "_Oh_…"

Frieta shook her head, "Do you have to slap us with your dull, half-made-up advice tonight, Liz? What about a story instead?"

"Ooo, a story _would_ be good!" Mary agreed, excited at the prospect.

Elizabeth shook her head, "I'm afraid Katie already took care of that before you both blundered in. It's too late now."

"Katie, could you-?" Mary glanced at her pleadingly.

Catherine smiled, "No, Mary, that was for Lizzie's ears only."

"Well what about our ears, Katie dear? We're your sisters too." Frieta protested.

"You aren't getting married tomorrow." Catherine reminded her.

"I'll get married one day."

Mary nodded dreamily, "And so will I—to an exotic man."

"'Exotic'?" Elizabeth asked, half-puzzled, half-amused.

Mary nodded, pronouncing emphatically, "Our fortunes! Do you really not remember them?"

"Fortunes?"

"Yes—remember—when we went swimming that time Daddy told us not to?"

"You mean, back when we still lived out on the pasturelands?" Catherine asked, frowning.

Her younger sister nodded dramatically, "Yes! Oh come on, I can't be the only one who remembers this!"

"Too right you can't!" Frieta exclaimed. "The fact that you remember anything at all is a miracle and I certainly can't handle you knowing something no one else does."

"Thank you, Frie—what did you just say?" Mary pouted, looking at her.

"Nothing, Mary dear, go on and continue."

"It was when we still lived out in the country. I was only eleven, and you were thirteen, Frieta, and Katie was fourteen and Lizzie-,"

Elizabeth interrupted, "Fifteen. I remember. We were banned from swimming in the creek because Daddy didn't want any of the young hired hands to see us."

"But we went swimming anyway." Catherine murmured, remembering. "Because Lizzie said she wanted to."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, "_You_ wanted to go out as well, Katie."

"Yes, but I didn't _say_ I wanted to."

"Well I think that secretly, you wanted-."

"And then we all waited until it was dark—really dark and late at night." Mary continued, cutting over the approaching argument. "And we went out there and went swimming in the creek. The water was _so_ cold!"

"And then it started to rain…" Catherine whispered.

She could remember it vividly now. Four young girls, squealing at the chilly water in the creek and relishing in the exciting rebellion of being out under the stars against their father's command. Then, the clouds rolled in and they were scrambling to gather up their clothes as freezing rain poured down. Thunder echoing overhead, the wind blowing fiercely, and all of them completely lost amid the night darkness.

"We ended up staggering into a barn somewhere near the outskirts of the pasture, didn't we?" Catherine asked.

Mary grinned, "We had no clue where we were going. I think Frieta was the one who kept shouting 'Left! Left!'"

"Well I thought it _was_ left." Frieta said defensively.

Elizabeth shook her head, "But it wasn't left at all! And we ended up huddled, shivering, half-dressed, in that leaky, musty old barn."

"And it was so dark. Thankfully you thought of finding the lantern, Katie." Mary said, smiling at her older sister.

Catherine sighed, "Thankfully there _was_ a lantern and kindling in the barn or it would have been a very miserable night."

"But it wasn't." Mary said simply. "It was one of the best nights I've ever had."

"And what did we do next? Didn't Frieta have a bottle of something?" Elizabeth murmured, her face turned to the ceiling in thought.

Catherine nodded, glancing over at Frieta. "I remember that. You stole a bottle from that cabinet in Daddy's office—and you dared all of us to drink from it while we were drying off in the barn."

Elizabeth made a face, commenting, "Oh yes, that was _awful_. The stuff tasted disgusting. What on earth was it?"

Frieta pretended to be very interested in the blankets and did not respond.

"Frieta, what was it?" Catherine asked suspiciously.

"Frieta." Elizabeth glared at her younger sister. "Answer Katie's question."

Nervously twisting at the hem of her bathrobe, Frieta mumbled, "Um… it might have been some of the Old House's wine."

"What?" Elizabeth asked.

"Frieta!" Catherine scolded.

"I drank wine when I was eleven?" Mary smiled, pleasantly surprised.

Frieta held up her hands, "It was really watered-down though! I specifically took the one that the herders were complaining was weak." She then crossed her arms irritably, pointing out, "And anyway, none of you lot decided to take more than one sip so I can't see why it matters so much!"

"Whatever happened to that bottle anyway?"

"I think we left it somewhere in the straw… we started to tell each other's fortunes afterwards, remember? And that means—Lizzie! Your fortune's coming true!"

"It is, isn't it?"

"'Marry a duke's son, grow fabulously wealthy, and have ten children'?" Catherine recited, glancing at Mary.

"Well Lizzie, you _are_ marrying a duke's son at least." Mary shrugged, grinning. "Who knows? The rest could happen as well."

"Hmm… doubtful. I think George is quite happy where he is monetarily speaking."

"But since yours is coming true—maybe that means mine will come true!" Her younger sister sighed, clasping her hands together, "Oh—what I would give for a foreign man…"

"Why do you want a foreigner, Mary dear?" Frieta asked.

"He would be exotic—_intoxicatingly_ exotic—and far more romantic than any of these pale, boring fellows in Corona."

"That's my almost-husband you're talking about, Mary." Elizabeth reminded her pointedly.

"I know…"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "But anyway, Frieta do you remember your fortune?"

Frieta leaned back onto the pillows, replying, "I was supposed to marry some poor bloke who couldn't remember his own name around me. Really, I think that was a joke more than anything."

Mary sighed, explaining pensively, "He would be so impressed by your beauty, Frieta. That's why he wouldn't remember his name…"

"Speaking of fortunes coming true-," Elizabeth glanced slyly at Catherine, "-mine's not the only one."

"What are you talking about, Lizzie?" Catherine asked, avoiding her sister's eyes.

"Don't you remember your fortune?"

Catherine sighed. She did remember her fortune. She had been hoping that no one else would remember her fortune. But with sisters like Elizabeth, Frieta, and Mary, there really was no hope for her. She closed her eyes and prepared for the oncoming wave.

"Oh yes—you're supposed to marry a prince!" Mary said excitedly. "Prince of Corona, wasn't it?"

"You mean Katie's supposed to marry the chap on our currency?" Frieta asked, turning over onto her side to see her older sisters.

"Yes." Elizabeth responded.

Catherine felt she had never heard her sister sound more nauseatingly triumphant.

Frieta frowned, "Really? What does he look like?"

"Yes, Katie, what does he look like?"

"You've seen him, Katie?" Mary asked happily.

"She's done more than that." Elizabeth said, ignoring the pleading look her sister was giving her. "She's _friends_ with him."

Frieta's eyes widened, "Friends? Katie, how did you manage to meet your suitor and become friends with him while we were up studying our brains out in Livesley?"

"He's not my suitor, Frieta!" Catherine protested, even as she turned to glare at her older sister. "And I told you, Lizzie, that Tommy and I are nothing more than friends! That's it—nothing else!"

Frieta raised an eyebrow, smirking, "'Tommy'?"

"They gave each other cute little nicknames." Elizabeth said, causing two sisters' smiles to widen while simultaneously leading the other sister's brow to knit with frustration.

Catherine glared at her, hissing, "_Lizzie_!"

She shrugged, "Well you can't say you didn't. I mean, for goodness sake you call him 'Tommy'. I think that counts as a nickname."

"What does he call you, Katie?" Mary looked up at her sister, beaming.

"'Cat'." Elizabeth answered, laughing. "He calls her 'Cat' in that deep, masculine voice of his that would make any girl melt."

She nodded, "So he has a deep voice?"

"_And_ whiskers."

Mary wrinkled her nose, "Ewww! Katie, a man with a beard, _really_? I can't imagine what kissing him would be like."

"I'm not going to kiss him, thank you very much!" Catherine snapped, feeling her face growing hot. "We are just friends!"

"They dance at parties all the time."

"Do they really?" Mary asked, grabbing a pillow to hug to her chest.

Elizabeth grinned, adding, "And the prince actually came over to the house and killed a potato for Katie."

"He killed a potato?" Frieta sat up, quite confused. "What, are the spuds revolting now?"

"I didn't think they were that bad." Mary remarked.

"And Daddy knocked him out with a dictionary." Elizabeth said, earning gasps from both girls.

Catherine glared, correcting sternly, "He didn't knock him out."

"Okay—okay—gave him a black eye. As if that's any better."

Frieta "All right, if Katie's been friends with this fellow for months, how is it that we're only hearing about him now?"

"He's new to the family. He's not new to Katie. She's known him for-," Elizabeth looked at her sister, "-how many months now?"

"Lizzie?"

She smiled, "Yes, Katie dear?"

"I hope you like these pillows!" Catherine shouted, bringing up her pillow and whapping her sister with it.

"Oh, now it gets interesting! " Frieta yelled, also seizing a pillow to join in the fight.

Mary frowned, "Frieta, I don't think-."

"Every girl for herself, Mary!" She slammed her younger sister clean off the bed.

"I can't-," Elizabeth ducked another blow from Catherine, "-Katie—really—this is no way to treat your sister on her prenuptils!" She skipped out of reach, protesting, "And those are _my_ pillows!"

Catherine raised her pillow high into the air, looking scary amid the falling feathers. "You're not duchess yet, Lizzie! All you own is George's heart!"

"And you own Tommy's!" Elizabeth teased, laughing.

"_Oooo_!" Enraged, Catherine began her onslaught again.

Thus a rather noisy, feather-filled pillow fight erupted into existence the night before the son of the duke of Dean was to be wed. All four sisters went at it with vigor, eventually calling random truces when they all grew too overcome with giggles to continue fighting. Halfway through, none of them remember exactly why they were bashing pillows against their sisters. Catherine herself, after getting several good hits against her elder, had regained a much better temper by the time she and all her sisters had collapsed onto the carpet.

Elizabeth clutched at her sides, groaning, "I don't think I've ever laughed so hard… ouch this hurts."

"Mary, you've got feathers in your hair." Frieta pointed out, rolling over onto her stomach.

"So do you."

Catherine took a deep breath, quite sure her heart would never slow down. "I think—I think that's enough for one night."

Mary sat up, sounding disappointed. "Are you banishing us, Katie?"

"Just because Liz told us all about your secret beau—even though we'd find out anyway?" Frieta asked.

Catherine rolled her eyes, responding sarcastically, "Yes. _That's_ why I'm banishing you. It _can't_ be because Lizzie's getting married tomorrow and she needs her beauty rest."

"That's right!" Elizabeth sat up, pointing at Frieta and Mary. "You two—get out of here! I need to be the prettiest girl in the church tomorrow afternoon or George might forget who he's supposed to marry!"

"Liz, I hate to tell you this, but I don't think one night's rest is going to cut it. I mean-," Frieta laughed, stroking her own face, "-_I'm_ going to be there, after all."

"Oh please!" Elizabeth snorted.

"Pfft! As if!" Mary declared, rising to her feet. "Besides, we all know _I'm_ the prettiest among us."

"Yes, but apparently _I'm_ the only one who caught the attention of the prince." Catherine grinned, striking a dramatic pose.

Mary laughed, "What does he know about beauty? For goodness sake, _he_ doesn't shave!"

"Reserve your judgment until you've seen him, all right?" Her sister pleaded, nodding to the door. "Now, both of you, get to bed before Mother comes to find out what all the shouting was about."

"All right, Katie, but only because Liz will cry the city underwater if she's not the prettiest girl in the room tomorrow." Frieta smiled, waving, "Goodnight!"

Mary nodded, "Sleep well! And if you need anything-!"

"Don't wake me up when you're trying to rise Mary from the dead! Sleeps like a log, you know." Frieta interrupted.

"I do not!"

Frieta shrugged, opening the door, "Might as well be a log, really. I think it took me and four other girls to wake you up the first morning at school."

"You're exaggerating." Mary decided firmly.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are most certainly too."

"That's not even correct English!"

Catherine quickly shut the door over her sisters' argument as they continued down the hallway.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, had retrieved her nightgown and disappeared into the bathroom to change. Catherine gazed around at the bedchamber, sighing as clouds of feathers drifted around the room.

"The maids are going to kill us."

"Kill _you_, you mean. I'll be on my honeymoon." Elizabeth replied, emerging from the bathroom and plopping down onto her bed. She brushed feathers from the blankets, murmuring, "And to think, you all have destroyed part of my future home right here."

Catherine climbed into her own bed, "Are you really going to miss a few pillows?"

"Probably not. After all-," Elizabeth gave her sister a naughty grin, "-_I'm_ going to be sleeping in George's bed."

Catherine groaned, covering her face, "I can't believe you just said that."

"Believe it, Katie dear."

"Lizzie, you could put Eira Lynn to shame."

"Yes, I could." She sounded rather proud of the fact.

"Wow." Catherine whispered, staring up at the ceiling. "You're getting married tomorrow."

"I know I am. So much time has passed since we were sitting in that leaky barn making up silly futures for ourselves… and they haven't all come true." She smiled knowingly at her sister. "After all, I may be marrying a duke's son, but, as much as I love him, George is not the richest man in the world."

Catherine glanced at her, responding, "And mine's never going to come true, so that disproves our fortune-telling skills right there."

"Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better."

"We're just friends."

Elizabeth nodded, "I know—I know. Just friends."

"Nothing more than that." Catherine said, blowing out the candle on her bedside table.

"Of course not. That would be silly." Her sister replied, also blowing out the candle next to her and plunging the room into darkness.

A few minutes passed in silence.

Then, very quietly, Catherine asked, "Lizzie?"

"Yes dear?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Katie."

"You're the best older sister I could ever have."

Elizabeth sighed, murmuring, "Now you're going to make me cry."

"Better now than tomorrow. Poor George couldn't deal with that stress on top of everything else."

There was another silence.

"Goodnight, Katie."

"Goodnight." Catherine turned over in her bed, and stayed awake long enough to hear her sister's light snoring. Then she, too, fell asleep.


	12. The wedding

**Author Note**: Amazing... it seems that whenever I finally wind up posting one of these things it's incredibly late at night. Oh well... anyhoo, Happy Belated New Year to you all and hope you guys have a wonderful year! :D God bless you all and thanks for your patience, your kind reviews, and for reading! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its story, and its characters.

* * *

"Would you like some coffee, sir?"

Thomas smiled, nodding at the waiter as he poured him a mug of steaming coffee. The waiter dropped a short bow. "I'll have Jim out in a few minutes with your breakfast, sir. Good morning."

"Good morning." The prince of Corona watched as the waiter walked through the nearly empty café of Jerusalem's Inn.

Thomas had risen early that morning, partly in due to his cousin's atrocious snoring, but also partly in due to his own restlessness. Upon coming downstairs, he was greeted by the innkeeper and instructed to take a seat in the little café that served as a common room for customers. There he had ordered coffee, a light breakfast, and the town newspaper. And now he waited.

The man took a long, slow draft from his cup, gazing about the polished tables gleaming in sunshine from the windows. His eyes wandered over to the empty fireplace, focusing on the crest decorating the chimneypiece. The house and family of Dean had been prominent members of Corona's nobility for as long as his own family had sat upon the throne in the capital. It was traditional for closely connected aristocrats to attend such events like weddings, birthdays, and in some unfortunate cases, funerals. However, he had to admit to himself that he was far less concerned about the girl being married than he was about the sister who would be standing next to her.

He had missed Catherine during the past several days. At parties he was either bored or forever dodging a relentless Patricia. In his office he spent more time wondering what she was doing rather than concentrating on the paperwork on his desk. During meetings, as his father and counselors rambled on and on about trade and foreign policies, he would recall conversations about Leon of Pharx or some other poet. And finally, whenever he had matters to attend to downtown, he would sometimes walk past her house and sigh in disappointment.

Yes, he had missed her indeed. But today was a new day, and he was going to see her again.

Another waiter, possibly the named Jim, came over with a platter of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and a small plate of orange slices. He slid the food carefully onto the table before laying a newspaper beside Thomas's coffee. Then he bowed.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Yes, can you get me some parchment, a quill, and an envelope?"

"Right away sir." Jim bowed again and departed.

Thomas set his napkin in his lap, unfolded his newspaper, and began to read and sample his eggs at the same time. Much of the news consisted in the constant announcement of the upcoming wedding. There were other particulars, but the majority of the business section had been shunted to one side in favor of an enlarged portion speculating on the type of dress George's bride would be wearing. Thomas snorted. He doubted it mattered much to anyone but Elizabeth and her husband—and possibly her mother—about the type of lace that would adorn the garment. And, he also felt, as he turned to the gossip columns of the paper, that it was a waste of newsprint to rumor which of George's brothers would be engaged after him. What did it concern the people of Dean who Matthew married?

"This is worse than those papers back home." The prince muttered, closing the newspaper in disgust and tossing it aside to finish eating his toast.

Abruptly, his cousin plopped into the chair across from him. Frederick, still sleepy-eyed and unshaven, let out a loud yawn that made a nearby customer jump.

"Really, Goliath, you could've woken me up." Frederick pouted, selecting a strip of bacon from a plate. "Now my bacon's gone cold."

Thomas narrowed his eyes, retorting, "For one thing, that's _my_ bacon. And for another, I tried to wake you up but it only made you snore louder. Frankly, I'm surprised the innkeeper didn't throw us out for excessive noise."

Frederick ignored him and plowed on. "Did you get any sleep at all, mate? I heard you turning around in your bed all night long." He took a bite out of his cousin's remaining piece of toast, mumbling, "D'jou hav'anghy drems?"

"None in particular. Unless you count a nightmare in which Madam Lillian made me wash a thousand windows just for sneezing."

"I don't see why Uncle Will still keeps her around." Frederick remarked, picking up the newspaper and rifling through it.

Thomas shrugged, "She's head housekeeper. She keeps the palace clean and gets paid accordingly. There's no reason not to keep her."

"She's a dragon. I'd say that's fair reason to give her the old boot." Frederick replied as Jim the waiter returned.

"Your quill and paper as requested, sir." Jim bowed to Thomas and then turned to the table's other occupant. "Your order, sir?"

Frederick stroked his stubbled chin, "Hmm… tell you wot, since there's going to be a big to-do this afternoon, I'll have about four waffles, a pack of sausages, some more buttered toast, and could you get me a ham and cheese omelet with extra cheese?"

"What to drink?"

"Coffee." Thomas cut in before his cousin could answer. "But whatever you do make it decaf."

"Right away, sir." Jim dropped another bow and walked off.

Frederick frowned, "Wot was that for, Goliath?"

"The last thing you need is caffeine at Cat's sister's wedding." Thomas replied, uncorking the small inkbottle he had been given.

"There _will_ be a few pretty girls around, I suspect?" His cousin raised a sly eyebrow, musing, "I wonder if any of them fancy a Freddy?"

"They might fancy _slapping_ a Freddy before the night's over."

"Goliath, you're being awful grumpy this morning."

Thomas sighed as he wrote, apologizing, "I'm sorry. You're right, Freddy, you could very well find your true love today."

"Too right I could." Frederick said sniffily. "Anyhoo, wot are you doing now? Scripting up a 'fare thee well' to old George before he's caught up in the chains of matrimony?"

"No—I'm writing to my mother."

His cousin smirked, "Does she still make you do that? Anytime you travel out of the city for more than a day?"

"Yes. But it eases her mind and requires relatively little effort on my part." He frowned, shaking his quill, "Or it _would_ require little effort if this was actually a decent pen."

"While you're at it you might as well tell Auntie Caroline that Mum's calling me back to Livesley."

"What?" He pulled out his penknife to sharpen the end of the quill.

"Apparently she misses her 'little Freddy' and Da's been wanting help with the estate."

"Wouldn't William help him with that?" Thomas asked, shaving off a portion of the feather shaft.

Frederick took a deep breath, "Well, a bit of news for you, Tom. My eldest brother William has decided to join the military."

"That's not surprising." Thomas squinted at the end of the quill, adding, "He's heir to the duke's seat at Livesley—he should have some military training if he doesn't have it already."

His cousin closed his eyes, responding quietly, "That's just it, Goliath—he doesn't want to be heir."

"He doesn't want-?" Thomas looked at him, confused.

"William does not want to be Duke. And neither do any of my other brothers."

"But Henry and Christopher and-."

"Henry wants to be a clergyman. Christopher is too busy with his wife and son. Richard is more concerned with his investments in Auxuria and doesn't care a twit about what happens to Livesley." Frederick shook his head, finishing, "None of them want to be Duke, Tom."

Thomas stared at him, quite forgetting about his letter. He cleared his throat uncertainly, starting, "Listen, Freddy-."

"And it's by choice, you know." His cousin interrupted, cocking his head slightly. "And they can all decide if they want to because they have that choice. And really,_ I_ can decide but—it's not—I can't."

A silence fell between them, and a few minutes later, when Thomas spoke again it was in a voice of intense concern.

"How long have you known?"

"I received a letter from Mum two days ago." Frederick answered.

"But why didn't you say anything until now?"

"Well, really, I hadn't _decided_ until now. But, just so you know, I'll be leaving the capital when we get back and I'll probably be gone four to five weeks." Frederick laughed half-heartedly. "Apparently they like to make sure that whoever gets the dukeship will do a good job of it."

Thomas continued to gaze at his cousin, his forehead bearing a line of worry.

Frederick smiled, "It's all right, Goliath. I just never expected this to happen to me."

"You're the youngest. You're not supposed to have to deal with that."

He shrugged, "I'm the youngest—seat falls to me—I've got to fill it."

"You're going to be the next duke of Livesley."

"Yes. I am." Frederick replied candidly.

Thomas opened his mouth, closed it again, and cast his eyes about the room for a moment before finally returning them to his cousin. He looked at him seriously. "Can you do this, Freddy?"

His cousin sighed and shrugged again, "To be perfectly honest, Goliath, I don't know. Never trained for it. But I was brought up in a duke's house. That's got to count for something."

"Yes but—but _can_ you do this?"

He raised his eyebrows, murmuring, "I don't know. I love Livesley. I'd do anything for her and the kinfolk. I just—I have to try."

"And… and if it doesn't work out?" Thomas asked hesitantly.

"You will be among the first to know, and I trust you'll find a suitable replacement."

"I'm sorry Freddy." Thomas said, sincerely wishing his cousin did not have to be saddled with such a responsibility.

"No." Frederick pointed at him sternly, "You have to do wot's right for the kingdom. That's your job. Don't apologize for it. First rule, Da always said. Never apologize for doing wot's right, no matter how unpopular it might make you."

Before Thomas could respond, the waiter arrived back with a servant boy in tow. Evidently Frederick's meal was too much for one man to carry.

"Excuse me, sir—your breakfast." Jim declared, removing a plate of food from the heavy platter the servant boy was trying to keep aloft.

Frederick smiled, scooting aside the newspaper. "Ah, thank you. Now could you please get me some ketchup for the sausages? And—and I suppose something healthy—a banana?"

"Yes sir." Jim took another dish from the servant boy, "Adrian, after you've finished here, go fetch the gentleman a banana."

Adrian frowned, protesting, "But we 'aven't got h'any-."

"_Adrian_."

"Aright, Jim, but I doan't-."

"Would you like some salt on your omelet, sir?" Jim asked, turning to Frederick while simultaneously cutting over Adrian's reply.

"Is it salt from Lot County in Gralt?" Frederick asked suspiciously.

Jim nodded, "Only the best for our customers, sir."

"Peachy." Frederick looked over at his cousin, "Want anything while the man's here, Goliath?"

Thomas shook his head, "No. No, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? They've got bananas."

"_No_ we doan't 'ave h'any bananas you ruddy-!"

"To the kitchens, Adrian." Jim ordered, glaring at the boy.

The prince looked at the waiter, "No thank you. Actually, I—I need to go mail my letter."

"You haven't finished it yet." Frederick pointed out, even as he wrestled with the lid of the ketchup bottle.

"I know. I'll just—I'll finish it at the post office." He rose to his feet, giving his cousin a small smile. "Be back in a few minutes."

"And then the wedding, right?" Frederick asked, grinning. "See Kitty-cat and her sisters all dolled up?"

"Yeah. But you stay away from them or Cat will pull out my beard. And if she doesn't—her father will."

"Righto, Goliath." His cousin agreed, even as he twisted at the lid. "Good for nothing little-." The rest of Frederick's words were muffled as he shoved the bottle top into his mouth and attempted to pry the lid off with his teeth.

The waiter followed Thomas to the inn's front entrance. Jim politely opened the door for him, bowing, "Do you need directions to the postal office, sir?"

"It's just past the church, right?"

"Yes sir. You'll make more time if you skirt the-."

"Jest cut through the graveyard. Them dead'uns woan't wake." Adrian, ignoring his superior's command, had popped up from behind the counter.

"Adrian, if you do not-!"

"I've got it, thank you." Thomas left before either servant could stop him.

* * *

He stepped out into the city, breathing in the early morning air. A span of seconds passed as Thomas stood there, simply inhaling and exhaling as his mind reviewed what had just been told to him. For the first time in many days, thoughts of Catherine were driven completely from his mind to be replaced with a problem. Frederick was to be duke of Livesely, a position he did not grow up expecting and one that he had never been prepared to take. But now he _had_ to take it—and Thomas knew that he had to because if he did not then the surrounding nobility would leap on the prospect. There would be squabbles, arguments, all-out shouting matches and, if worse came to worse, even open violence over who won the dukeship. A healthy, diplomatic agreement would be nearly impossible to hammer down—and he did not even want to think about how disappointed Frederick's family would be if the post were not retained. It was a distinct honor to serve in the duke's seat at Livesely; it would be an utter disgrace to lose it.

Thomas sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily as he started his journey down the lane. He had to give his cousin his full support or other men—some of them his own friends—would declare Frederick ill-qualified for the job. Unfortunately, Thomas found it hard to argue with them. But he loved his cousin. And he knew, deep down within his heart, Frederick had a sense of duty the size of a mountain. He could do it. Or at least, Thomas hoped he could.

He turned a corner and started up past a line of closed storefronts. Due to the festivities taking place later that day, most of the citizens of Dean had taken an unofficial holiday. Everyone in the city and province was invited to the wedding, but only a select number would be able to cram into the church. Being the only church in Dean, it was monstrous in size and could probably hold at least four hundred people. The majority of the populace would be able to attend the reception, though, which would be taking place in the duke's walled mansion at the back of the city.

Thomas gazed up at the massive church building as he strode along the street opposite its great, columned porch. It was clearly the most ornate piece of architecture in the town—grey stone cut from the quarries of Lockridge, carved angel-wing buttresses, stain-glass windows, as well as the roof of copper shingles long tarnished green by the weather. It would provide a magnificent atmosphere for the wedding. An archaic ambiance enlivened by a wealth of fresh flowers and the youthfulness of the bride and groom. He could already hear the bells ringing out the happiness of the union between two souls.

This day did not need the worries of a prince to darken its light.

Thomas set his arm upon the fence of the church cemetery, determinedly shoving every aspect of his problem out of his mind. He could deal with it tomorrow—not today. Certainly, not today.

Mentally taking this decision firmly by the scruff of its neck, the prince resumed his walk to the post office, and wondered what Catherine was doing at that moment.

* * *

What she was doing at that moment took place in the ladies' parlor in Duke Johnson's mansion. Breakfast was on each individual table, and every woman in both the duke and Lord Brian's families were enjoying the meal amidst the frilly surroundings.

Catherine ran her finger down the schedule beside her plate, speaking clearly. "After that little lunch with George's sisters and the duchess we'll return to the dressing room to get ready. It will probably take a few hours but since there are nine of us, and with you as the bride, we'll need all the time we can get."

"Katie, I can't do this."

Ignoring her sister, Catherine plowed on, "And then after we get ready, all the girls and I will exit the house and take the carriages to the church while you and Daddy take a separate one."

"I really can't do this." Elizabeth said again, staring at her dish of food.

"And then we'll-."

"Katie, I _can't_!"

Catherine narrowed her eyes, demanding, "Why on earth not?"

"I don't like herring!" Her sister exclaimed, jabbing her finger at her breakfast.

"What?"

"Who on earth decides that herring is a good breakfast for a girl on her wedding day?" Elizabeth asked irritably, twisting her napkin within her hands.

Lady Marie, seated at the table with them, finished stirring sugar into her tea. She took a light sip, murmuring softly, "You don't have to eat it, dear."

Elizabeth groaned wearily, "Mother, I don't understand who thought-."

"It doesn't matter who thought it was a good idea, Lizzie. What matters is that you can choose not to eat it if you don't want to." She turned back to her second eldest, "Now, Katie, please continue to read the schedule before your sister finds something else to complain about."

Catherine returned to her paper, preparing to continue when Elizabeth suddenly clapped her hands to her face.

"Oh dear, I'm turning into Lady Darla's daughter, aren't I?" She asked, evidently quite upset about the realization.

Lady Marie sighed, "Whatever do you mean, Lizzie dear?"

"The slender daughter who married that baron's nephew. She was like this—all nervous and bossy and whining about every little thing. She even kicked the baron's dog because he sat on her footstool. But Mother I _can't_ be that way!" Elizabeth protested anxiously, gazing at her mother.

"Well, Lizzie, I'm happy to tell you that you don't have to be that way." Lady Marie replied, picking up a knife to butter her biscuit.

"You're right." She declared firmly. "You're absolutely right, Mother."

"I know, dear."

Elizabeth rose to her feet, announcing dramatically, "I'm not marrying some spineless nephew of Baron Lionel. I'm marry George of Dean and confound it all if I'm going to be nervous about it!"

"Feel better?" Lady Marie asked, even as Catherine rolled her eyes.

"Yes." Elizabeth replied, sounding dazed.

"Then you can sit down, dear."

Her daughter looked around, surprised to find herself standing. She hastily took her seat, trying to ignore the curious looks she was receiving from the other ladies. Elizabeth shook her head, muttering, "I still don't want to eat the herring."

"You don't have to. Just give it to the dog."

"Right. Brunson can have it." Elizabeth turned to feed the fairly pudgy bulldog.

"Katie, can you please read through that last paragraph again?" Lady Marie asked, massaging her own forehead as Brunson gulped down the herring.

"Yes, Mother."

Catherine mechanically read out the list again, but instead of focusing on the words, her thoughts drifted elsewhere. After having woken up that morning, her sister had been nothing but a pack of nerves. Now, having eaten something, she was slightly better off. Yet Catherine could not help but suspect that the day would be just as trying on her as it would be on Elizabeth. There was just so much to do before the actual work—the wedding itself—started. After breakfast they (meaning she, Elizabeth, their mother and George's mother) would go do a last minute check on the preparations in the mansion's banquet hall as well as send servants to see to the church decorations. Then they would have to make other arrangements concerning the florist—who had unfortunately included a flower George was allergic to in Elizabeth's bouquet. The bride and the groom's mother were not going to stand for having the dear man sneezing his head off during the ceremony, so that issue had to be dealt with immediately.

And _then_ there was the whole problem of the flower girls who had yet to arrive from Gavin—apparently George's married sister and her daughters were stuck somewhere on the road. The sister's husband and Duke Johnson had already started off to fetch them, but no one knew exactly where they were stranded. And yet another _then_, the groomsmen had decided to go off and have a ridiculous 'stag party' the night before and they had lost one of the fellows in the city somewhere. She was also certain that Georgiana was contriving of "losing" her shoes so she did not have to wear them during the wedding, but that was a minor issue.

And really, the only good thing that had happened today was that George was safely locked in his room under the watchful guard of his brothers and the old family butler.

Apparently his mother had not even allowed him to attend his own stag party, and Catherine personally believed this was a reasonable choice, despite George's protests against it.

"…and then we'll be at the reception and dance until our feet fall off while George and Lizzie run away to their honeymoon." She finished, looking to her mother.

"If we can make it that far, Katie dear, I think we will have conquered the world." Lady Marie said, taking another sip of her tea.

Elizabeth set her chin in her hands, sighing wistfully, "I wonder what George is doing right now."

"Probably ranting about how _he_ wouldn't have lost Romano if he had been at his own stag party." Her sister replied, eating a piece of bacon.

"I really think the groom has the easier end of the stick when it comes to this wedding business." Elizabeth muttered, listening to the clink of chinaware as an aunt of hers rearranged the crumpets on her saucer. "And George wouldn't have found Romano—he would've gotten lost himself and wound up in far off Auxuria on top of a camel."

"Why on top of a camel?" Catherine asked curiously.

She shrugged, "Because George always talks about wanting to see a camel. I don't see why I can't let him have one in my made-up fantasy."

"You'll be a very good wife." Catherine said.

Elizabeth gave her a sideways smile, "Thank you, Katie."

Their mother rose to her feet and took each daughter by the hand. "All right, my dear little girls. I'm going to have a word with the duchess before we go down to the banquet hall and fuss at the servants. Finish eating and make sure Frieta and Mary get the other girls where they need to be."

"Yes, Mother." Her daughters replied in harmony.

"Thank you both." She smiled and walked away.

Elizabeth sighed again as she watched her mother carefully weave in and out of the tables of chattering, munching ladies. "Katie, do you think I'll ever be as calm and graceful as Mother?"

"I don't know." Catherine said honestly. "I don't know if any of us will ever be quite as good as she is."

"Do you think George will mind?"

She shook her head, "George won't mind. He just wants to marry _you_, the Lizzie he fell in love with. He doesn't want anyone else."

"Good."

"Ready to face the day, then?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath as she stood up, "No, little sister, I'd really rather it be over with."

"Too bad." Catherine responded unsympathetically.

She snorted, "You're _so_ comforting."

The girl simply smiled at her, "Love you, Lizzie."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Mm-hmm… just try to catch me if I faint at the altar."

"I'll do better than that—I'll let George catch you."

"And what if he faints as well?"

Catherine's smile widened, "Then Matthew will have a lot to deal with because I'm going to be laughing too hard."

"I'm glad I picked you for my maid of honor. No one else would care as much."

"Is that sarcasm I hear?" She asked, standing up and gathering her schedule.

Elizabeth nodded, exclaiming sarcastically, "What _excellent_ hearing you have, Katie dear!"

Catherine wrapped her arm about her sister's, leading her across the room, "Not nearly as excellent as your tendency towards dramatics."

Her sister gave a toss of her head, "I'm supposed to be Duchess of Dean when George takes the seat in two months. Duchesses are dramatic."

"Naturally." Catherine laughed as they reached the table where their mother and George's mother were sitting.

* * *

The following hours proved quite eventful. After visiting the banquet hall, where everything had been decorated with exquisite taste and hardly a problem in sight, the bride and her entourage went to check up on the church decorations via the servant in charge. Of course, they could not _find_ the servant in charge so they had to send a pageboy down in order to see that all was in order. After a span of fifteen minutes, the pageboy came running back, very much out-of-breath, to gasp that all was as planned with the exception of the flowers. Apparently the florist refused to redo the bridal bouquet and not redo everything else. It would be free of charge, naturally, but that did not stop all four women (Catherine, Elizabeth, Lady Marie and the duchess) from groaning in furious annoyance when they realized that none of them had given the florist the command to redo the church flowers. However, the pageboy declared cheerfully, he already saw a bunch of big men bringing in the new foliage, so the decorations should be completed by the time the ceremony would start.

That issue halfway taken care of, the ladies went downstairs to the mansion's kitchens to see how the majority of the food was doing. The head chef was a younger fellow from the Torren Peninsula who, as he so often liked to say, had a cousin working in the capital by the name of Arnold. Despite his youth, the chef had a firm hand on everything going on in the kitchens and already a line of foodstuffs was being created in time to be displayed prettily in the banquet hall that evening. The only thing missing was the cake, which was being crafted in a bakeshop somewhere in the city. The pageboy had already been sent to see about it, and the four ladies continued their trip through the mansion to observe the dresses being brought in by the dressmaker. The dresses had been made and ordered in the capital, but the actual shipment had not been able to occur until the wedding morning due to technical problems involving a carriage. Elizabeth's bridal gown had been sewn in Dean, so hers was by far the easiest to manage since it was already hanging in the wardrobe in the ladies' parlor.

As Lady Marie and her eldest daughters dealt with the capital's dressmaker, the duchess journeyed to the far side of the mansion to have words with the gentleman bringing in the suit coats and trousers for her son's groomsmen. She also went to inform George that all was going according to plan, as well as to stop playing with Brunson or he would be smelling like dog on his wedding day. George replied he intended to bathe vigorously after lunch, satisfying his mother, and continued to play with his dog since he had been confined to his room and had nothing else to do.

When the duchess returned to the ladies' parlor it was nearing lunchtime. All the girls involved in the bridal party, as well as a few of George's female relatives and Lady Marie, partook in a light meal on the mansion's grounds. The sun was shining brightly now, and the sky such a distinct blue Catherine thought it was a pity her sister had decided for a late afternoon wedding instead of early afternoon. Good news reached them by the time most of the little sandwiches and relishes had been eaten. Romano had been found in the stables of an inn in a village lying on the outskirts of Dean's domain. Thankfully, he was unharmed, but in a good need of a shave and a wash that his fellow groomsmen promised they would see accomplished even if they had to shove him into a bathtub.

Finally, after lunch was over (about an hour past the scheduled time) the bridal party returned to the ladies' parlor to start readying themselves while the bride herself and her maid of honor went up to her room for baths and face paints.

Another hour later, Catherine was downstairs in the parlor trying to make sure all her younger sisters were getting dressed properly.

"Ally, stop moving so I can tie this ribbon." Catherine muttered, crouching next to her younger sister as she attempted to retie—yes, this was _third_ time now—the ribbon at her back.

Allison sighed, "Katie, it's not my fault. Elly kept pulling and I told her-."

"I didn't pull it!" Eleanor protested, popping her head out from behind a chair.

"Yes you _did_!" Allison snapped, darting forward and yanking the ribbon from her elder sister's hands. "You did and you know you did!"

Catherine pressed the heel of her hand firmly against her forehead, closing her eyes. This was getting ridiculous. She still did not know where Georgiana had gotten off to nor found Jane's shoes, nor had she even gotten dressed herself. And it was rather chilly in that parlor when all she had was a chemise and hose.

"Ally, Elly, stop fighting and get over here before I send you home!" Catherine barked, glaring at both girls.

The twins looked at her in surprise. They had hardly ever heard her shout like _that_ before.

Meekly, both Allison and Eleanor obeyed, and Catherine was able to finish tying the ribbons of both girls before she continued to look among the boxes for Jane's shoes.

Kneeling beneath a table (some of them had not been taken out before the ladies began to dress), Catherine could overhear a couple of George's aunts commenting on the wonderful occasion of the day. She rolled her eyes and felt around in the darkness, unpleasantly finding a stale, half-eaten crumpet. The girl emerged from the table and rose to her feet, shooting a faintly annoyed look over at the two aunts who were fully dressed and really should not be in the parlor at all.

"Katie, have you found my shoes yet?" Jane asked, looking up at her.

Catherine sighed, "No, Jane dear, not yet. Have you been looking?"

"I looked everywhere and I can't find them!"

"Okay, well just go get dressed then. I'll keep looking. Oh, and tell Emma to stop playing with the jewelry and get her dress on already."

"Yes Katie." Jane trotted obediently off to where Emma was sitting at a table examining the jewelry arrayed across its surface.

Catherine turned and nearly ran into Frieta.

"Oh, sorry Katie dear. Didn't see you." Frieta said, smiling as she helped her sister regain her balance.

"Frieta, where's your dress?" Catherine asked distractedly, looking her up and down in confusion.

She raised an eyebrow, responding, "I should be asking you the same thing, dear."

"Well I asked you first so tell me what happened to it. I just helped you finish the buttons not ten minutes ago."

"I didn't want to mess it up when I helped Liz come down here." Frieta answered, pointing over her shoulder at where her eldest sister was currently talking to the seamstress who had sewn her dress.

Catherine's eyes narrowed, "But neither one of you are properly dressed. You mean to tell me that you two came all the way down here in your chemise and petticoats?"

Frieta shrugged, "It was a bit of duck and run but we made it. I don't mind telling you, though, there are an awful lot of men about this place. Does the duke of Dean really need _that_ many waiters?"

"If Mother found out-."

Her sister snorted, "She won't find out, Katie. And really, the only boy who did see us was George's youngest cousin who's barely three years old. Liz did have a time trying to get him to go back to his mother when he saw us though. He absolutely adores her, thinks she's a sweet cake or something. 'Course, he's only three so I suppose I can forgive him since he doesn't know any better."

"Has Mary gotten dressed yet?"

"Yes, she's doing her face paints right now, see?" Frieta gestured over to the long mirror at the wall. "Speaking of which, Katie, you could use a touch-up. What have you been doing, crawling under tables?"

"Frieta, is that Katie?" Elizabeth's voice drifted over to them.

"Yes it is, beautiful, bossy bride-to-be!" Frieta called back.

"Tell her to come here! I need help with the corset!"

"I thought she'd given up on the corset." Catherine said, frowning.

"She did until she found out Lady Darla's daughter-."

Catherine moaned, "Oh, nevermind. Honestly, sometimes I think Lady Darla has far too many daughters."

"Lord Darla probably thinks the same. Good luck, Katie." Frieta gave her a friendly pat on the back as Catherine walked over to where Elizabeth was standing next to the set of floor-length mirrors.

The seamstress smiled at Catherine, "How are you doing this afternoon, Miss Katie?"

"Busy. I might start tearing my hair out in a second, which would be a shame considering it took nearly half an hour to get it looking like this." She studied her sister's appearance, taking in the overall shape of her body. "Lizzie, are you sure you want to try the corset again? It didn't fit right last time."

Elizabeth rolled her head tensely, "Katie, don't remind me of last time. Just try to help Flora put me into that horrible contraption."

"All right, dear." Catherine said reluctantly, taking the other side of the corset to fit it around her sister's front.

A minute or so later, however, this proved to be a bit of a problem.

"Lizzie-," Catherine muttered, tugging hard at the strings, "-you've been far-," she grunted, giving another terrific pull, "-far too blessed in your curves. You're not fitting right."

"I've _got_ to fit!" She cried plaintively. "Just keep trying!"

"Maybe if we undid a few of the laces?" Flora panted, glancing over at Catherine.

"I'll hold her still while you try it." Catherine shrugged, setting her hands on her sister's shoulders.

Elizabeth gasped sharply, "Katie, your hands are freezing!"

"Shush, Lizzie, and hold still."

The bride suddenly noticed that she could breathe better. "Wait, what are you doing, Flora?"

"Trying to help you fit, Miss Lizzie." The seamstress replied, her nimble hands at work.

"You're undoing them." Elizabeth sounded disappointed.

Her sister shook her head, "I'm sorry, Lizzie, but there's nothing else for it—the strings can't be this tight or you'll faint on your way up the aisle."

Elizabeth pouted slightly, bowing her head in defeat, "All right… all right, you can-," she winced, "-_loosen_ it."

"Thank you, dear." Catherine replied, squeezing her shoulders.

"Lady Darla's daughter—you know, the one who's already married—brags about how tight hers can go."

"Yes well, Lady Darla's daughter is not half as well-endowed as you are and therefore she has to find something else to brag about." Catherine stepped back, appraising her sister's slightly altered figure. "Okay, Lizzie, I think that's done it. We can get you into the rest of the dress now."

Elizabeth turned sideways, gazing at her reflection while running her hands down her waist, "It's a little better. And I suppose-," she touched her bosom, "-you're probably right about the curves."

"Of course I'm right." She smiled up at her older sister.

Elizabeth smiled back, and then her eyes widened, "Katie, what on earth are you doing still in your chemise?"

"I was helping you." Catherine answered, slightly resentful.

"For goodness sake, Katie, you're the maid of honor!"

"And you're the _bride_!" Her sister retorted. "You're a bit more important than I am at the moment!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Oh right, as if I-."

The door to the parlor suddenly opened, and Lady Marie walked in.

Almost immediately, the majority of the girls in the room fell silent.

Lady Marie was already dressed, resplendent in a gown of dark green resembling the bridesmaid dresses most of her daughters would be wearing. She stood tall and collected, her hair brushed to a shimmering perfection and her face calm. She gave off an air of complete serenity, a simple elegance heightened by a nearly royal presence. Clearly, this woman had no trace of anxiety affecting the rest of the bridal party. It was unbelievable, and so impressive that for a minute, most of the ladies forgot what they were doing.

Then Jane ran up to her mother, "Mama, I can't find my shoes."

The girls returned to their individual preparations and the general chatter and discussion filled the room again.

Lady Marie took her daughter by the hand, "Have you searched in your room upstairs?"

"No, Katie said we couldn't leave."

"She meant until you got dressed, Jane dear. Go ahead and search upstairs. You'll find your father in our bedroom. He still hasn't found his shoes either." Lady Marie gently shooed her daughter away before going over to where her two eldest were still arguing.

"Enough, children."

Elizabeth glanced over, murmuring hastily, "Sorry, Mother."

"We were just-," Catherine started to reply, only to meet an austere pair of green eyes. "Sorry, Mother."

Lady Marie smiled lightly, "It's quite all right. Now, what is the problem?"

Elizabeth shook her head, "Nothing. Um, Flora, could you please help-?"

"Right away, Miss Lizzie." The seamstress carefully removed the white dress from the wardrobe.

Lady Marie looked at Catherine, "Katie, you need to get dressed."

Her daughter turned away, "No, I still haven't found Georgia—I mean—Jane's shoes and Lizzie needs help with her dress and-."

"Don't worry about that right now, dear girl. You're going to catch cold if you run around like that." Lady Marie easily steered her daughter over to where her dress lay, still in its wrappings.

Catherine watched as her mother removed the papers. Lady Marie then set her hands on her daughter's shoulders and instructed: "Turn around."

She turned, automatically moving when needed as her mother began to help her into her dress.

"I've just left your father." Lady Marie said, adjusting the straps of Catherine's dress. "Dear man can't tie a cravat to save his life. And his boutonnière was missing so we had to find him a new one."

"How _is_ Daddy? I haven't seen him all morning." Catherine shifted her arm slightly as the smooth fabric slid against her skin.

Her mother laughed, "He's very happy he doesn't have to be in here."

"He's lucky."

"He's a man." She corrected as she started to fasten the buttons at the back. "And a father. _And_ he still has about eight more of these to get through."

"Seven. After this, I don't think I want to get married."

Lady Marie smiled as she brushed aside some of her daughter's hair to get the last three buttons. "Nonsense. Don't you want the chance to boss your sister around?"

"At the moment, I don't really care." Catherine muttered, feeling her mother's soft fingers secure the dress's back together.

"Hmm." Lady Marie smoothed down the panels of the gown, ensuring that all was in order. "Can you turn around again for me, darling?"

Catherine did so, a slightly annoyed expression on her face. Evidently she was still aggravated with what had occurred in the last hour.

Her mother smiled, "Aside from the frown, you look very lovely, dear. The dress suits your figure quite nicely."

She was right, of course. Elizabeth had chosen that gown specifically for her sister simply because she knew it would fit her so well. Open around the neck and showing just the right amount of slender shoulder before the sleeves started; a sloped front and long, flowing skirt that emphasized her hips—which, Lady Marie admitted to herself dryly, Catherine had inherited from her mother. The sleeves themselves were unadorned except where they ended in artfully laced, draping cuffs at her elbows, leaving the rest of her arms bare.

All of this combined created a rather pleasing appearance.

"The only problem-," Lady Marie said, circling to see her daughter's back again, "-I could see when we picked it out was the pleating at the back. But, now that I see it fully, it actually compliments you. No harm done, then, Katie."

Catherine glanced into the mirror on the wall, absently smoothing down her hair. "What about the front?" She murmured self-consciously.

Lady Marie raised her eyebrows.

"Well?" Catherine asked.

"You need a necklace, that's all. You also might want to get Mary to brush your hair a bit and redo that braiding at the back. You shouldn't have gone looking under the tables, dear. Jane's shoes are still in her room along with Georgiana's."

"Georgiana's?"

Lady Marie shook her head, "She doesn't want to wear them and thought that by hiding them she wouldn't have to."

"We don't know where she is. She ran off at least twenty minutes ago." Catherine said, glancing back to the mirror.

Her mother smiled, "I suspect she's probably hunting for George at the moment so she can tell him how pretty Lizzie looks."

"She hasn't seen Lizzie in her dress yet." She pointed out.

"I know, dear. But that's Georgiana for you. Now—go get a necklace while I help Lizzie with her gown."

"Yes ma'am."

Catherine went over to the table where Emma, now dressed, had returned to continue her examination of the jewelry. The girl had already formed a neat array of her selections, fingering the chains of necklaces, banded bracelets, and a number of rings and earrings. She beamed happily as her older sister approached.

"So are you the official jeweler, Emma dear?" Catherine asked, reaching out to fix a stray wisp of hair behind her sister's ear.

"What do you need?" Emma asked, liking the alleged authority she now had.

"A necklace. Do you have anything in gold?"

"Yep." She chose a necklace from her private stock and gave it to her sister.

Catherine held the pendant in her hand, feeling the folded metal, "A rose?"

Emma grinned, "It's your favorite."

Catherine returned the smile, "True. All right, help me get it on."

Emma stood up on her chair—she was barefoot, like most of her sisters—and, hardly breathing, latched the necklace clasp.

Catherine turned to see her reflection in the wall mirror, touching the delicate, half-opened rose. She recognized the piece as one her mother had worn when she was younger. She was rather surprised to find it out on the table in the parlor.

"What do you think, Emma?"

"You look very pretty, Katie."

"And what about Lizzie, hmm?" Catherine whispered, bending down next to her, "What do you think of her?"

Emma looked over at where her eldest sister stood and let out a faint sigh of wonder, "Oh Katie, she's _beautiful_!"

Catherine smiled and followed her gaze, "Lizzie was right. She will be the prettiest girl in the church."

Elizabeth was a vision in pure white. Her dress's neckline was cut fairly low, with a laced bodice that created a distinct, hourglass look. Her sleeves started as a slight poof at the top of her shoulders, slimming down along her arms and ending tidily at her wrists. Then the dress descended into a cloud of skirt that seemed to waft out gently around her, curling and uncurling as it lay across the floor. The seamstress was attaching the veil, leaving it to stream attractively along her back. Elizabeth had decided to wear her hair loose, and it fell down with the veil in quiet waves, giving her an aura of innocent timidity.

Then Elizabeth raised her eyes, a shy smile crossing her face as she called, "What do you think, Katie?"

"I think-," Catherine walked over to her, tilting her head, "-that George is going to forget to breathe when he sees you."

"Good, because I'm sacrificing my own air supply with this corset."

"You don't have to wear the corset, dear." Lady Marie reminded her.

"Yes I do." She said, determined.

"Then don't complain about it."

"I'm sorry, Mother." Elizabeth turned, looking at herself in the mirror, and remarking quietly, "But it _does_ look rather nice."

Catherine laughed, "Oh, stop being modest, Lizzie. You look gorgeous."

"I _do_, don't I?" Elizabeth exclaimed, her timid smile breaking into a confident, almost embarrassingly proud smirk. "I mean, look at this dress! Have you ever seen such a beautiful thing? Not to mention the absolutely stunning girl inside it." She turned, giving a sly look over her shoulder at her reflection as she hissed wickedly, "George will have _no_ idea what hits him."

There was a sudden knock at the door.

"Katie, could you-?"

"Yes, Lizzie." Still smiling, Catherine went over to the door and opened it a crack.

Outside, in the hallway, was an annoyed, thirteen year-old boy with a very happy, talkative Georgiana clinging to his hand.

"And then we're going to have dancing." Georgiana said, grinning. "Lots of dancing. Daddy said he'd dance with all of us, including Lizzie, and he said that there will be so many beautiful ladies in dresses and-."

"George sent me over to return her." The boy mumbled dully, gesturing at the little girl.

Catherine nodded, recognizing him as George's youngest brother, John. "Thank you so much for bringing her back. Come on, Georgiana, go in."

Her sister frowned, "But I haven't finished-."

"Go in." Catherine ordered firmly.

Georgiana obeyed, her smile changing rapidly into a sour pout.

John cleared his throat, "Um, actually, Katie—I—I have a message from George."

"Oh, what is it?"

"He wants me to tell Liz personally."

She frowned, "Personally?"

John shrugged.

"Okay, then. Hold on." Catherine turned around and announced to the parlor at large: "All of you—either get decent real quick or duck behind a screen. We have a man outside who needs to come in."

There were several, high-pitched squeals as girls dove for cover and attempted to pull their dresses on. One pair of girls in particular—she thought they might be some of George's cousins—took refuge underneath a table. After a minute, she opened the door and allowed John to enter.

He glanced around, edgily tugging at the collar of his green suit coat.

Elizabeth, with Flora still adjusting minute parts of her dress, looked over at her future brother-in-law. "John? What do you want?"

"Hey, Liz. Erm—I've got a message for you from George." For some reason his face had turned bright pink.

Elizabeth leaned down, allowing the nervous young man to whisper into her ear.

Catherine watched as her sister's eyes narrowed and a peculiar expression crossed her face.

Elizabeth straightened, pursing her lips as she considered the message. Then she instructed: "John, when you get back to your brother, slap him for me."

John grinned slightly, "Yes ma'am."

"You needn't tell him why, either." Her glare seemed to grow remarkably stern. "He _knows_ why."

"Right. See you at the altar, Liz." He started to leave and then turned back, adding, "By the way, you look smart as a new lamb."

Elizabeth smiled, "Thank you, John."

John's grin widened, and he tipped her a nod before exiting the room, whistling.

Girls emerged from behind whatever they were hiding behind, already chatting about the male intruder. Well, not all of them were. Lady Marie was currently giving her youngest a quiet talking-to as she squirmed uncomfortably beneath her mother's gaze.

Catherine, meanwhile, had walked over to her sister. She arched an eyebrow, asking curiously, "Just what was it George said that earns him a slap?"

"Never you mind, Katie. You're far too young for that sort of talk." Elizabeth shook her head, murmuring, "_Really_, George—I thought you were more well-behaved than that."

"What did he say, Lizzie?" Catherine asked again, crossing her arms.

"I can't tell you. Your ears would be positively flaming during the ceremony and the last thing I want mother asking me is why my little sister is giving off smoke. Not to mention you'd be blushing red as a rose in full bloom."

"Oh, I would not." She argued.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Katie, please, I know you. You're about as innocent as they come."

"I'm nineteen, Lizzie."

"Do you _really_ want to hear?"

"Well, yes." She saw Elizabeth's impish grin, and her resolve wavered slightly. "Do I?"

"Your choice, dear." Elizabeth answered warningly.

Catherine bit her lip, trying to decide. Something about the look upon her sister's face made her suddenly embarrassed, and she hastily shook her head. "Actually, I think whatever it was is between you and George. I won't bother trying to force my way in." She frowned, adding as an afterthought: "I also think he deserves whatever slap he gets, whether it be now or afterwards."

Her sister laughed, "There you go, Katie. That's more like it."

Abruptly, the door opened again and Jane strode in, holding aloft two pairs of shoes. She smiled victoriously, "Found them! And Georgiana's too!"

In the corner, her youngest sister groaned.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to wear _that_ jacket, Goliath?" Frederick asked, baring his teeth at the tiny washroom mirror.

Thomas nodded, pulling the dark blue coat down against his shoulders. "Yes, Freddy, I'm sure. It's the most comfortable jacket I own, and it's still in fairly decent shape."

His cousin snorted, "Mate, the collar's frayed."

"Only in the back, and who's going to notice that, really?"

"Auntie Caroline will murder me if she found I let you stroll about like that. Especially since we're scooting off to a wedding."

"Okay. What are you going to do about it?" Thomas asked, sitting down on one of the beds to put on his dress boots.

"I'll tell you that I'd like white petunias on me grave and a eulogy fit to be chanted over the Emperor of Auxuria's sarcophacarcass."

Thomas grinned, turning to watch his cousin squinting at his own reflection. "There is another reason I'm wearing this one."

"And wot reason is that?"

He pulled on his right boot, grunting, "I don't want to be seen as prince here. I'm only supposed to be a guest at the future duke of Dean's wedding, nothing more."

"Don't they know you're coming?" Frederick asked as he picked up a container of cologne.

"Cat does. I'm not sure if George ever got my reply." Thomas glanced over at him, seeing Frederick uncorking the bottle. "Freddy, you do realize that cologne is quite possibly the worst fragrance ever invented."

"You're just jealous Mum didn't get you one for Christmas."

Thomas rolled his eyes, "That didn't come from your mother. That came from William as a practical joke."

"Still makes the gals flock." Frederick argued defensively.

"Yes, it does, assuming those 'gals' as you so put it are the cats that hang about in back alleys."

His cousin wavered slightly, "Is it that bad?"

Thomas gave him a single nod, replying, "You should have heard the meowing last night when you accidentally left it open on the window."

"Hmm." Frederick took a tentative sniff and reared back, eyes stinging. "Whew! Maybe you're right, Goliath."

"Of course I'm right." He reached into his open trunk, pulling out a small bottle and tossing it to him. "Try that."

Frederick frowned at the bottle, "Wot is it?"

Thomas returned to checking the buckles on his boots, answering, "I don't know, but Roderick Macintosh uses it and claims that it's marvelous."

"Why do you have it, Goliath?" He poured some out onto his hands and began patting the perfume on his face. "You think Rod's a right swagger."

"Birthday present. I keep forgetting to get it out of my suitcase."

"And, uh, are you wearing any tonight?" Frederick asked, giving him a surreptitious glance.

He shook his head, "No. I don't like cologne much."

"But the gals do."

Thomas cleared his throat, responding quietly, "Not all of them, Freddy."

"Ready to see her again?"

He looked over at him, raising his eyebrows, "I can't imagine whom you're talking about."

Frederick gave a half-shrug, "All right, Goliath, have it your way. Just-," he appraised him for a moment before adding, "Just fix your cravat. It's crooked."

Thomas's forehead wrinkled, and he reached up to feel the neckerchief at his throat.

* * *

About ten minutes later, the two men had joined the crowd of townsfolk ambling its way down the streets of Dean in the early beginnings of twilight. At the doors of the church they produced their invitations and were quickly ushered inside.

Thomas slid into a pew, gazing up at the vaulted ceiling. Large chandeliers dangled above them, letting off a soft, golden glow. There were also candelabras at the front of the church, flanking the stage. Pinpricks of candle flames flickered in jars at the base of each stained-glass window, peeping out amongst clusters of white flowers. More white flowers topped the ends of the pews, giving off a faint, summer scent that contrasted with the various other perfumes and aftershave oils of the babbling guests.

"I say, Goliath, could you trade seats with me? The bloke in front is about ten times my size and I can't see much more than his big head."

His cousin obliged, taking the aisle seat while Frederick squeezed his way past to plunk down on his other side.

"Thanks. Wretched pew post was crumpling up my sleeve, anyway." Frederick murmured, examining the extravagant laced cuff of his jacket.

"_Again_ with the lace?"

"Goliath, one day you'll see the sense of wot I do and you'll be sorry for it."

"I'll be sobbing from the missed opportunity." Thomas replied sarcastically.

Frederick nodded smartly, "Too right you will. By the by, did you happen to snatch a program from those pushy codgers at the door?"

He gave him the folded paper, "I already checked. It's not going to be a long ceremony, considering who's getting married."

"And the reception's afterwards, right?"

"All the dancing and food the house of Dean can offer."

"Suppose I'd better start rubbing shoulders with some of those gents Da always chats about. Duke Larry from Gavin, right?"

Thomas bobbed his head, replying, "And Duke Erik of Calscon, who, I have been told, is a personal friend of Lord Clayton."

"Lord Thingy?" His cousin sounded aghast. "I don't like him—chap doesn't understand proper catering."

"Duke Johnson is George's father, but George will be duke of Dean in a few months so you don't really need to know Duke Johnson—just George."

"He's a good bloke."

"He'll be Cat's brother-in-law within another hour." Thomas said, checking his pocketwatch.

"Do you like him?"

"Yes I do."

"And wot about Kitty-cat?"

"She likes him as well."

"Grand."

Thomas took a deep breath, and then immediately regretted it. Frederick had applied an overdose of Roderick's suggested cologne. Setting his hand over his nose with the pretext of an itch, the prince looked around at the surrounding people. Many of them were faces he recognized, dressed in their best suit coats or elaborate gowns. A few of the ladies had fans to ward of the summer heat, and several of the gentlemen were taking snuff as they talked about economics and politics. There were even uncomfortably dressed children, forced into attendance by their parents, who were playing peek-a-boo over the backs of the pews.

To the left of the stage, several jacketed men were trooping in from a side door. They were obviously the musicians, for in their arms they carried violins, a cello, clarinets, and flutes, and they all took to their chairs and began tuning. Immediately, the wedding guests started to quiet down with an impatient 'shhh!' added in for good measure. In the left aisle, Lord Brian was escorting Lady Marie to her seat. On the other side of the church, the Duke Johnson did likewise with the duchess, seating himself next to her while Lord Brian returned to the foyer.

After the mothers were seated, the door to the right of the stage opened, and George walked in, followed by his three brothers and a number of his friends. George was listening intently to the reverend as the elderly man mumbled something into his ear. He nodded, nervously patting down the front of his coat as if to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles.

Thomas had to admit that the man looked rather sharp. His green jacket was a shade darker than those of his groomsmen, and his shirt a crisp white that made him look tanner than he actually was. However, the slight redness on his cheek somewhat marred this image.

Frederick leaned over, muttering, "Wonder why George looks as if he's been slipped a bash to the face."

"Perhaps he has been slipped one?" Thomas replied under his breath.

"Stag party gone wrong?"

He smirked, "You never know."

"One of those fellows at the front seems a little tipsy." Frederick commented. "He's being held up."

Thomas saw which one he was referring to—the short, curly-haired man who was staring groggily round the church in confusion. "That would be Romano. He's an old friend of George's and has also recently gained ambassadorship from the government of the Peninsula."

"Makes sense then."

"They _do_ like their wine there."

"Think there'll be any at the reception?"

"I have no idea." Thomas said, checking his watch again.

The ceremony would start in exactly five minutes.

* * *

A rush of music filled the church as the musicians began playing the traditional melody.

"You know wot the best part of weddings are, Goliath?" Frederick asked as they and the rest of the assembly turned in their seats.

"No, what's that?"

"The bridal party." He replied jauntily, even as the bridesmaids started down the aisle.

The first bridesmaid was little Georgiana, walking by herself and looking quite pleased with all the attention. She beamed at the guests, clutching a bouquet of flowers in front of her chest as she trotted lightly up to the stage. Then came the twins Allison and Eleanor, walking hand-in-hand, with one of the girls counting out the steps in a whisper. As soon as they reached the halfway point, Jane and Emma began to make their way down the aisle. In contrast to the twins, they were as distinctly different in manner as they were in looks. Jane had her eyes fixed directly ahead, clearly apprehensive, while Emma gave the guests a brazen smile, purely ecstatic about the whole thing.

Thomas allowed himself a small grin as he turned to watch a pair of girls—both of whom he did not recognize—begin their own walk down. Mary and Frieta moved at a much more stately pace than their younger sisters. They also were not holding hands, choosing instead to march forward with their flowers held just below their waists. They did, however, cast a glance or two around to ensure that the crowd held some potential dance partners for the reception afterwards. Thomas could have sworn that the younger of the two actually winked at one of the young men in the audience, but he could not be sure. After all, by that point he was already turning to watch a pair of flower girls go down. The two must have been George's relations since they looked nothing like Catherine's family. He was a tad disappointed though, as they passed by flinging white petals out of their baskets. He had been expecting Catherine, not flower girls.

Then he turned, and all other thoughts escaped him.

The most wonderful things of the world, and possibly above it, were walking down the aisle. Nay, not walking—_gliding_. The most wonderful things of the world were _gliding_ down the aisle. Gliding in what had to be a burst of sunlight from heaven. Gliding in on a summer breeze that would make the grasses of the Midlands dance and the sails of the heaviest vessels swell into life. Gliding with such grace and beauty that he could not fathom why she was here in this earthly hovel when she plainly belonged to a higher realm entirely.

Catherine met his eyes, a demure smile crossing her lips.

_ Now_, the most wonderful things of the world were gliding down the aisle.

"Kitty-cat makes a nice maid of honor, doesn't she?"

Thomas did not reply.

"Goliath?"

Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, a voice attempted to tell Thomas that his cousin was speaking to him. Thomas dismissed the voice as idiotic and continued to gaze at the enchantress now gliding up the steps of the stage.

"Goliath. Stand up."

Now the voice told him that his cousin was elbowing him in the ribs.

Another painful dig to his side forced him to respond. "Ouch! What, Freddy?"

"Stand up." Frederick hissed, already pulling him to his feet. "You're supposed to look at the bride now."

"Oh—oh, right."

Feeling as if he had been recently knocked over the head, Thomas turned away from the front of the church to look at the bride.

Elizabeth was radiant, practically floating down the aisle with her arm in her father's and her eyes downcast in soft, virginal contemplation. She seemed to glitter under the candles of the chandeliers, shedding her joy and splendor upon the multitude. While Thomas did not exactly forget about Catherine, he certainly felt that Elizabeth was every inch a duchess of Dean.

The crowd turned, and Thomas managed to catch a glimpse of George's face. He had never seen a man grin so broadly.

Lord Brian and Elizabeth approached the foot of the stage.

At the altar, the reverend smiled around at the congregation. He then cleared his throat and announced in a quavering voice: "Dearly beloved, we have gathered together in the sight of God to witness the union of this man and this woman. This is not an occasion to be taken lightly, for our great Lord ordained marriage when He first put the woman Eve in the Garden with our father Adam. Therefore, let us now pray together for God's blessing upon this couple and this service."

The audience, the reverend, and the wedding party all bowed their heads. Then the reverend began to pray, and Thomas gradually remembered who he was and what he was doing. He realized that in the farthest corner of his mind was a vague plan bouncing around. It seemed to involve prostrating himself before the feet of the unearthly creature he had just seen and beg to be her servant for all eternity. For some unknown reason, the idea had a strange appeal to him. Nevertheless, he attempted to block out this thought and follow along with the reverend's murmured words.

Thomas shook his head forcefully as the reverend finished his prayer.

"Amen."

"Amen." The congregation and wedding party echoed.

The reverend then looked down at the bride and her father, asking, "Who gives this woman to be wed?"

"Her mother and I." Lord Brian answered readily.

At the reverend's nod, Lord Brian turned and lifted the veil from his daughter's face. He smiled, took her hand and joined it with George's. Then Lord Brian walked away to sit next to his wife in the front row, and Elizabeth and George ascended the steps to the altar.

What occurred next was a fairly traditional service. The reverend gave a brief sermon highlighting the importance of the promise represented in the marriage, comparing it with the relationship of Christ and His Church. Then came the exchange of vows and rings, the prayer said for the groom and bride, and the ten or so other little ceremonies involved in wedding services of Corona.

Thomas, having recovered fully from his recent incapacitation, paid very little attention to the service. Instead, he kept his focus primarily and rather unsurprisingly on the maid of honor. He also spent a good part of the time trying to figure out what had happened to him. He did not normally lose all sense at the sight of a pretty lady. But, the more passionate half of his mind argued, Catherine was not just a pretty lady. She was absolutely without a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Then the reasonable half of his mind made the argument that it was not that Catherine was beautiful—which she was—it was just that he had not seen her for such a long time. She did not appear more attractive than normal; he had just been deprived of her presence and had forgotten how amazing she was.

Yet he could not remember ever being broadsided by her beauty before.

Maybe it was just the day?

He turned his face back towards the front where Elizabeth was currently reciting her vow. Automatically, Thomas's attention switched over to Catherine. She was glaring meaningfully at Georgiana. Evidently Catherine's sister had been wiggling too much for her taste.

Thomas smiled slightly. He recognized _that_ look.

Yes, it was just that he had not seen her for such a long time. The affect was wearing off now. She looked more like herself—still fantastic, granted, but also a little more human.

A minute later the giving and receiving of rings took place.

Another minute, and the reverend had pronounced the couple husband and wife.

Thomas rose to his feet and joined in the thunderous applause as George kissed his bride. He then noticed the smile on Catherine's face and started to clap louder.

* * *

"Tell you wot, Goliath, the folks at Dean sure know how to cater." Frederick declared as he selected another miniature sandwich from his plate.

Thomas frowned, "Is that your fifth plate?"

"When you say 'fifth' do you mean the one that follows after the first, second, third and fourth?"

He smirked, "Generally, that's what 'fifth' means."

"Oh." Frederick picked up another sandwich, "Then no. This isn't my fifth."

"What is it, then?"

"Seventh." His cousin let out a short burp.

Thomas sighed and returned to watching the dancers out on the floor.

She was dancing with one of George's school friends now—the last groomsman. After this dance, then she would probably have to dance with Duke Johnson. Then her father. Then some other noble of Dean. Then a merchant from Auxuria that specialized in wool products. Then a famous solider who had taken an arrow to the knee in his youth and could no longer dance properly. Then another man who had done something somewhere and had known the family since he was ten.

He understood why. She was the maid of honor, sister of the bride—she _had_ responsibilities to attend to—greeting guests, thanking friends, embracing family. It made perfect sense that he had not had the chance to talk to her yet. What did not make sense, however, was the sharp splinter of annoyance he felt because of it.

"Sausage, Goliath?"

"No thank you."

Frederick polished off the sausage in question. "All right. I'm off to go convince one of those ladies for a waltz across the floor. Want to join me?"

"No. I don't think so."

Frederick narrowed his eyes, gazing at his depressed cousin. He set his hand on his shoulder, "Tom."

"What?" Thomas asked, somewhat sullenly.

"You'll get the chance to dance with Kitty-cat eventually."

He nodded, setting his chin in his hand, "I know."

"Then stop moping and go ask another lovely out for a spin. I mean-," Frederick gestured to the skating, dancing gowned figures out on the floor, "-look at them all! Pretty darlings every one of them." Then his face fell, "Well, almost every one of them. That dear over to the left is a bit sour looking. Maybe she had some of the lemon pie."

"Freddy, I don't want to dance at the moment." Thomas replied, cutting over his cousin's chatter.

Frederick made a face, "Okay, but really, wot else are you going to do?"

"I—I'm going to go talk to James."

"Is Jimmy here?" He cocked his head, smiling.

Thomas nodded, pointing over to another table, "Yes. He's over there with Walter."

"Oh. I should slip over and say 'hello' when I get the chance. By the way-," Frederick leaned down, whispering to him, "-which of those fellows with the stern faces is the duke of Calscon?"

"The one with the striped cravat and expression like a boulder."

"Right. I need to introduce myself sometime tonight. Comment on the food and maybe he'll write to Lord Thingy with suggestions. See you, Goliath." He slapped him on the back, adding, "And go dance with a gal!"

Before he could retort, again, that he did not want to dance with anybody, Frederick had already disappeared into the crowd.

Thomas turned away, debating with himself whether or not he really did intend to go speak to James as said, or just keep watching Catherine. He decided on the slightly less irksome activity and went over to join James and Walter at their table.

"Hello, Tom." James said, nodding as he sat down.

"James, Walter. How are you?"

"All right. Just been out dancing with Henrietta. She's off talking to one of her friends at the moment so I can take a breather." James let out a low moan, rubbing his neck. "She's very nice but a tad overenthusiastic."

"'A 'tad'?" Walter snorted, taking another gulp of his punch. "Jim, she's like a rabbit."

"I happen to like rabbits." James responded stiffly.

Thomas, not willing to endure such conversation, tried to change the subject, "So, have either of you finished those reports Captain Dansk assigned us?"

Walter swigged more punch, "Nope."

"I tried to, but my 'rabbit' wanted to see the play at Ezra's Theatre." James said, still glaring at Walter.

"Did you buy her a bushel of carrots to greet her at the door with?" Walter asked.

"Lilies, actually. They're her favorite."

Thomas cleared his throat, "Well, I've started the report and I think Dansk is asking for too much by wanting us to write ten pages."

"_Lilies_." Walter muttered.

"I mean, honestly, having us trace how our training relates to the downfall of Pharx is absurd."

"She's got a sister, Walt." James added.

"Sister?"

"Yes."

Thomas plowed on desperately, "After all, Pharx was nothing like Corona all those centuries ago and-."

Walter stood up, "I'm going to find the billiards room."

James cried exasperatingly, "Billiards, Walt? _Really_?"

"I can smoke there." Walter pointed out, already walking away.

James shook his head, glancing over to the floor, "_Smoking_. Can you believe that Tom?"

"Absolutely terrible." Thomas agreed dully.

"I mean, I'm never one to say no to a game of billiards, but we're at the wedding of the future duke of Dean! And Henrietta's friends with the bride, you know? I can't ignore that."

"So you two are friendly now?" He asked.

"Well, depending on what 'friendly' is, then yes, we are." James glanced over to the prince, asking, "And what about you, Tom? Any luck finding a girl of your own?"

Thomas rolled his eyes, playing with someone's forgotten fork. "My mother has some meetings planned for me when I get back. Apparently we did not get to talk to a few ladies who had come to that ludicrous matchmaking affair. Or she's just 'reviewing' them again. Either way, I have to go sit and mumble pleasantries when I'd much rather be elsewhere."

"Have you ever given any of them a chance?"

He groaned, "James, nearly every girl who came to that affair wants my money, my house, my crown, or the satisfaction of being called 'your Highness' for the rest of her life. As far as I'm concerned, none of them would be worth the pain of any kind of engagement."

"What about that girl we met down at the wharf?"

"She's a friend, nothing more."

James raised his eyebrows.

"Don't look at me like that."

"All right. Ah, Henrietta-," James smiled as the girl walked over, "-you remember Prince Thom-?"

Henrietta grabbed his hand excitedly, "Jimmy, the dance is starting again! I love this one!"

"But-." Before he could say another word, James had been swept off onto the floor.

"And so goodbye, James." Thomas said, smirking slightly.

After a moment, he leaned back in his chair and allowed his gaze to drift over to the dance floor. He wondered how rude it would be if he simply went over and cut in. Surely not that rude, really? After all, he was the prince of Corona. He had a right—he had a—.

"No, you idiot, you do not have a right." Thomas muttered, interrupting his own strain of thought before it became too abhorrent. "Cat can dance with whomsoever she pleases and she owes nothing to you."

He wondered, unhappily, whether or not James was correct. Perhaps he _should_ attempt to find some good in the ladies his mother marched out in front of him. But even that made no sense to him. How on earth was he supposed to find the proper partner by having little protocol-laced meetings with them? That was no way to get to know a person. You knew a person through experience and mutual interest, not talking about menial topics like the weather. And he was positive of his accuracy in that regard. After all, he could never remember talking about the weather with—.

There was a sudden, painful twanging noise that sounded as if a violin had been brutally strangled.

He turned and saw that the lead violinist had somehow managed to chop the neck of his instrument in half. The baffled musician was trembling, staring at the destroyed violin in his hands. The rest of the performers had also stopped playing, and some of them were rising to their feet.

Out on the floor, the majority of the dancers were now gazing up at the stage in confusion.

The orchestra director hastily turned around, fiddling with his baton. He cleared his throat and proclaimed loudly: "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid to announce that we will be having a short break. Sorry for the inconvenience."

Murmuring, the wedding guests either moved off or milled about the floor. Thomas spotted a familiar form leaving by the far corner. In a second he had gotten to his feet and was striding across the dance floor.

"Excuse me." Thomas muttered as he squeezed his way past people.

"Pardon me, sir. Madam—excuse me please." He nearly sneezed as a woman's feathery headdress tickled his nose.

Blinking, Thomas continued forward until he reached the other end of the banquet hall.

"Goliath." Frederick popped up unexpectedly on his left.

"Not now, Freddy." He had lost sight of her and was trying to find her again.

"No, mate, this is important."

"It can wait."

Frederick ignored him and continued talking, nearly tripping in his effort to keep up with his cousin. "See, I met this gal—absolutely fantastic gal—but blast it all I forgot my name."

Thomas slowed slightly, "You forgot your-?"

"Name. Yes. Clean gone. And there I was, stammering like a-."

"Freddy." Thomas interrupted.

"Wot?"

"Your name is Freddy—you're going to be duke of Livesely—and you don't like-," he pushed passed another man, "-sorry, sir. You don't like peanut-butter sandwiches."

"Right." Frederick grinned. "Oh, and Goliath?"

Thomas growled, wheeling around to glare at him. "Yes, Freddy, what is it?"

"Kitty-cat is that way." He pointed over to their right.

Thomas followed his gesture all the way to where Catherine was leaning against the side of the punch table.

He clapped Frederick on the shoulder, "Thanks."

"Good luck."

Thomas walked towards the table, taking care to not trample anyone in his haste to reach the girl.

Catherine did not notice his approach at first. She was busy refreshing herself with cool punch after dancing with all eight of George's groomsmen. Derrick of Chantill had been last and, out of all of them, he had been the worst dancer. The poor man had never danced much before and had clung to her hands the entire time. There were even movements in the song when _she_ was forced to lead him, which proved difficult as he did not follow her direction. It had been a relief when the dance ended halfway through. And now, Derrick had long since fled, and she could finally get a moment to herself.

"Good evening."

"Listen, I know you would like to dance, but could you wait for-." She stopped speaking, realizing who stood next to her. She slowly turned her eyes upward to be greeted by the smiling face of her friend.

"Tommy." Catherine said, surprised.

"Cat."

She hesitated for a second, still taken aback by his appearance, but then a smile began to spread across her face. "How—how are you?"

He grinned, answering, "Feeling a bit rejected, actually."

"What? Oh-," her eyes widened, and she set aside her cup, "-sorry. It's just that I've been dancing with men all night. First was Matthew—George's brother—and then I had to dance with the duke, and then with another man who asked me, then with a cousin of mine, and then I caught up with the rest of George's groomsmen. And I was afraid someone else was asking me when you came up."

"Well, I haven't asked yet."

"Can you wait?"

"Certainly."

She let out a sigh of thankfulness, murmuring, "Tommy, you are a gentleman, even if your collar _is_ a bit frayed."

He frowned and felt at the back of his neck, "You noticed that?"

Catherine nodded, "Yes, I did." She picked up her drink and took another sip, adding, "But compared to most men you have a sense of decency when it comes to a lady and dancing."

"That bad, eh?"

"Matthew and the duke were all right. The other boys, however, could have used a few lessons from whoever taught you."

"I'm afraid that he went into retirement a year ago."

"Any way to convince him to come to Dean?" She asked, finishing the remainder of her punch.

He shook his head, "I doubt it."

"Shame."

Thomas laughed slightly, turning his gaze over towards the bride and groom. Both Elizabeth and George were still beaming, shaking the hands of well-wishers and hugging family members. Yet, at the same time, neither left the other's side, and he could easily imagine that their future together would mirror the action.

"They look happy." He remarked quietly.

Catherine nodded, replying in contentment, "They _are_ happy. And I'm happy for them. Lizzie deserved someone special and I think she really has him in George."

"He'll make a fine duke." The prince commented.

"Politics, Tommy? At a wedding?"

Thomas gave a half-shrug, "It's my job."

She considered him, a certain glint in her pretty green eyes. Then she impulsively took his hand, "Come on—the next dance is starting."

"I haven't asked you yet."

"Doesn't matter. I'm the maid of honor and I can dance with whoever I want." She grinned, tugging him onto the dance floor.

In another span of seconds, the music started up and the lead violinist began to play a strong melody. Clarinets and flutes took up the harmony, while the cello and other violins supplied the bass line. It was an interesting composition, but the dance that went along with it was a smooth, sweeping movement that was fairly easy to follow if you paid attention.

Thomas took her hand and set his other upon her back, just beneath her shoulder. Then, as the violinist introduced the third measure, he stepped towards the left.

Catherine sighed, evidently having been holding her breath in trepidation. "Thank goodness you know how to dance."

He smiled, holding up his arm to allow her to spin.

She took his hand again, continuing, "The last three men who danced with me insisted on going right, every single time. I nearly ran into an earl of some sort when Derrick was leading. I had to take over after a while to stop him from steering me into people."

"Yes, but while I may be a better dancer, George's groomsmen lack frayed collars." Thomas noted.

She winced, "Oh, I'm sorry—I shouldn't have pointed that out but it was almost instinctive. I've spent all day making sure everyone looks her best and it was one of the first things I noticed when I saw you."

He shook his head, "Think nothing of it. Freddy actually told me to change jackets but I didn't listen as you have obviously seen."

"And how is Freddy?"

Thomas turned slowly, answering, "He's doing well. He's always liked weddings so he was excited about coming. He just told me that he met—how did he put it—an 'absolutely fantastic gal' who made him forget his name."

"He forgot his-?"

"Yes. I don't know what caused him to forget something like that but he did and I had to remind him who he was." He grinned, "Anyway, how was your trip, Cat?"

"Fantastic." She replied softly, smiling up at him. "Dean is a lovely city and George's family are all so nice. We've had a lot of fun visiting with them and watching the boys play tennis. George even took us to see a sheep shearing. It _is_ Dean, after all."

"Famous for its sheep." The prince remarked.

"As long as they are happy."

"Happy sheep?"

"Yes."

"You've been in Dean far too long, Cat." Thomas said in mock distress.

She tilted her head, asking teasingly, "Why? Did you miss me while I was gone?"

"Well, I wouldn't say-," he paused, looking at her and experiencing something similar to what he had felt in the church. Unable to do anything else, Thomas nodded simply, "Yes, I did."

The smile on Catherine's face faltered when she heard the honest sincerity in his voice. She stared at him uncertainly, not knowing how to respond.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice.

"May I cut in?"

They both turned to watch Lord Brian walking over from the edge of the dance floor.

Immediately, Thomas dropped his hands, "Lord Brian—good evening."

"Daddy?" Catherine gazed at her father.

He nodded, "Evening, Thomas. Katie."

"Um-," the prince held out his hand to shake Lord Brian's, "-congratulations on—on everything—your new son-in-law and so on."

"Thank you." Lord Brian smiled, finding the young man's nervousness rather amusing.

Catherine frowned, clearing her throat, "Daddy, what are you doing here?"

"Fulfilling my promise, dear girl." He glanced between the two of them. "Or am I mistaken about your mother telling me that I had to dance with each of my daughters?"

She gasped in realization, "Oh—oh that."

"Yes, Katie—_that_."

Thomas coughed uncomfortably, "I should probably—I should go."

Catherine turned to look at him, protesting, "What? Tommy you don't have to-."

"No, I've—I've got to go find Freddy, actually." He bowed, "Thank you for a wonderful dance, Cat. Goodnight to you both."

The prince departed, leaving Lord Brian to dance with his daughter.

Catherine followed her father out onto the floor, even as she glanced back to where Thomas had vanished amid the wedding guests.

"That young man was looking rather mournful when I swept you away from him." Lord Brian said, taking a smooth step to the left.

"He—he was telling me something important."

"Was he really?" He did not sound surprised.

Catherine's eyes narrowed, "Yes, he was. And he would have said more if you hadn't interrupted."

"Then I apologize, Katie. Though I'm sure if Thomas _really_ wanted to keep dancing with you, he would have said so."

She shook her head, murmuring, "No. He's too much of a gentleman to do that."

"Perhaps he is." Lord Brian held out his arm to twirl her, admiring the ease of her movements. "You know, you and your sisters have always been remarkable dancers."

"We had you as a teacher."

"I know you did. And-," Lord Brian nodded over to where his eldest now danced with her husband, "-if you'll excuse me a moment's self-satisfaction—all that hard work paid off. Lizzie's the wife of a duke now."

She smiled, "And you're the father of a duchess. How does that make you feel?"

"Hungry, to be honest. I haven't had the chance to eat I've been meeting so many people. Did you know Duke Lawrence from Gavin is a close personal friend of Duke Johnson?"

"No, but they are both dukes."

Lord Brian grinned, replying, "And what's more, they like the idea of a trading route set up between our pastures and their own."

Catherine rolled her eyes, "Daddy, if Mother heard you talking business at Lizzie's wedding-."

"Dear, they are the ones who brought the subject up, not me. Although I am _certain_ that neither one of them will be scolded half as much as I will be if you tell your mother."

"Is that a plea for silence?"

"Only if you take it as such. Ah-," he looked upward, listening as the music began to slow, "-the dance is over. Katie?"

"Yes Daddy?"

He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, "You look beautiful tonight, my dear girl."

She smiled faintly, "Thank you."

Lord Brian bowed, "Thank _you_. And I promise that in the future, I will try not to interrupt any more of your dances. I just wanted to see if he actually cared enough to leave."

"You did that on purpose?"

"I do everything on purpose." He replied, releasing her hands and heading towards the nearest buffet table. "It just seems like I'm not."

Catherine shook her head, smirking, as she turned around to leave the floor.

"Would you care to dance?" A young man asked her politely.

She sighed reluctantly, nodding, "Yes, thank you."

He grinned and led her out back onto the floor.

* * *

Thomas spent much of the rest of the night talking to people he knew and people he only recognized by name or face. In fact, some of the people he talked to he had never met before until that moment. But he talked all the same. He talked to James, having found him recuperating after another dance with Henrietta, and he talked to Daniel, who had come to the wedding in place of his ailing Uncle Montague. Thomas also heard rather than joined in Lord Clayton's argument with the duke of Calscon. Apparently they were discussing the food and wondering what sort of catering service Duke Johnson had hired. He even spoke to Catherine's friend Isobel, who actually stopped by and had a full five-minute conversation with him before hurrying off to go chat with the daughters of Lady Joanna and Eloise.

He also slipped into the billiards room for a little bit. Walter was there with a number of older men who had either escaped their wives or were unmarried anyway. The place was smoky from the pipes and cigars of the gentlemen, and aside from remarks on the game at hand, the talk mainly consisted of a war brewing in a far off country. Not liking pipe smoke much, Thomas quickly left the room after exchanging a word or two with Walter, and returned the to banquet hall.

He did dance again, once, with a sister of George's who was five years his younger, and with a lady from Chantill who claimed to know one of his cousins. Other than those two dances and the short dance he had shared with Catherine, however, the prince largely stayed away from the floor. He did not want to sense that sharp splinter of annoyance any longer, and felt that the best way to do so was to refrain from being near its source.

Finally, around nine o'clock, George and Elizabeth left their guests in showers of rice and flowers to depart on their honeymoon to the Torren Peninsula. There was fanfare outside the mansion, with trumpeters blaring out a farewell to the dark sky above. And then the couple was gone, leaving their guests to continue celebrating the marriage without them.

Another three hours passed by, and with their passing many guests began the journey back home or to whatever inn they happened to be staying in that night. The musicians were still playing parts of songs in the background when Thomas found himself to be sitting in a chair against the wall. He had dozed off slightly while listening to a general babble on about how Corona never did tourneys even more or had even a decent gauntlet to run through like they did back in his day. But now the general had left him, and the prince was reduced to watching the remaining dregs of wedding guests drifting around the hall.

He recognized a few of them. Roderick Macintosh and the girl Eira were chatting quietly in a shady corner of the chamber. A very drunk groomsman was snoring next to the stage where the orchestra still stood. Several of George and Elizabeth's family members still wandered around as well, apparently on the verge of falling asleep where they stood. He remembered, dimly, having seen Lord Brian carrying a sleeping Georgiana out of the hall while George's brother Matthew took Allison—or Eleanor; he had not yet discovered how to tell them apart.

Really, Thomas wanted to say his goodbyes and return to Jerusalem's Inn for a well-deserved rest, but he was unable to do so since he had yet to locate his cousin. Frederick had been missing ever since telling him about the girl who had made him forget his name. Thomas was worried, but only just, as he was seriously considering abandoning the man and going back to the inn himself. These thoughts were swiftly shoved from his mind when a very tired girl sat down on the seat beside him and promptly laid her head against his shoulder.

Thomas glanced over to his right. He wondered if he should say anything.

Uncertainly, he cleared his throat, "Cat?"

"Hmm?"

"You're falling asleep."

"What?" She opened her eyes and rather quickly realized where she was. "Oh, I'm so sorry—I thought it was the chair…"

He shook his head, smiling, "It's okay."

"Honest?"

"Of course."

Catherine closed her eyes again and returned to her previous position, muttering, "Then hold still and don't move for another ten hours."

"Very well." Thomas replied, raising his head as a servant walked up.

"Miss Catherine, we don't know what to do with the tables." The servant informed her, rubbing the weariness from his eyes.

Catherine groaned.

"I'll handle it. Excuse me." Thomas got to his feet and followed the servant to assist with relocating the tables.

When he returned he saw that Catherine had fallen across his chair and was now slumbering peacefully. He did not blame her. From what he had gathered through all the talking he had done that night, the girl had been up since five that morning trying to make sure her sister's wedding day was a success. She deserved to sleep.

However, Thomas could not help but notice that she was shivering. He glanced around. The chamber _had_ grown rather cold after the main fires had died in their grates. And there was no handy tablecloth nearby with which to cover her.

Thomas fingered the collar of his jacket. His mother would never let him wear it at royal functions. And, since he was the prince, he did nothing but attend royal functions. Therefore, the only reason he should bother keeping the coat was because it was his favorite.

But Catherine was cold.

He removed his jacket and gently laid it over the girl's slender form. He adjusted the lapel before straightening to gaze down at her.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to fulfill my promise to you, Cat. I would've really liked to dance with you more than once. Not that it really matters now." He smiled. "Sleep well."

Thomas resisted the urge to move the jacket so that it covered her shoulders and instead turned to walk away. A familiar pair of footsteps hit his ears as his cousin joined him.

"Hello, Freddy."

He nodded, stifling a yawn, "Ready to scoot, Goliath?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Right then. Let's go find the entrance to this place and start walking before I tip over."

* * *

Catherine was sleeping remarkably well when her father found her. Remarkable for the reasoning that one does not normally sleep well across a line of chairs. Nor does a jacket provide much cover. Yet, it took a few tries before Lord Brian could wake his daughter.

"Come on, Katie. Come on—you can't sleep here tonight."

"Why not?" Catherine moaned, pulling the prince's coat closer around herself.

Lord Brian sighed, whispering, "Because your mother would kill me if I left you down here. Come on, it's a short walk to your room."

Catherine rose to her feet, quite unaware of what was happening. Lord Brian softly pushed and coaxed her all the way upstairs and into her bedroom.

By the time her father had closed the door, the girl was awake enough to realize where she was. She absently touched the collar of the jacket, her eyes puzzled. She knew it was Thomas's, but when had he—_why_ had he—?

Catherine shook her head and removed the coat, folding it and setting it on a nearby chair. Then she prepared for bed.

She had already changed into her nightgown when there was a knock at the door.

"Katie?"

"Come in, Mother."

Lady Marie walked in, dressed in her husband's bathrobe. She smiled, walking over to where her daughter stood at the vanity arranging the misplaced brushes and combs.

Her mother picked up one of the combs, asking, "Will you be all right in here by yourself? I'm sure one of your other sisters would be overjoyed at the prospect of sharing a room with you."

"I'll be fine." Catherine answered, taking the comb and placing it within a drawer.

"You won't get too lonely?"

She shook her head, mumbling, "All I really want to do is curl up and go to sleep. I'm very tired."

Lady Marie nodded, "Okay. But if you need anything-."

"I know where to go."

"Yes you do. I love you, Katie. Goodnight." She hugged her daughter tightly, putting a lot into the action rather than through her words. She knew, though Catherine might be too tired to admit it even to herself, the faint sense of abandonment her daughter was feeling. Her elder sister _and_ her best friend had just gotten married. It was a strange, isolating sensation that had to be accepted in order to move on with life. Catherine would have no trouble with doing so, but Lady Marie wanted her to know that her mother was here for her, all the same.

Lady Marie drew away and brushed one of her daughter's bangs from her forehead. "Oh, and incidentally, Happy Birthday, Katie dear."

She frowned, realizing, "It _is_ today, isn't it?"

"I expect, if you look around your room enough, you'll find a note from your sister concerning the subject."

"She'll probably buy me one of those fans from the Peninsula." Catherine said, a slow grin crossing her face.

Lady Marie smirked, "Don't let your father see you with it, then, or he'll confiscate your birthday present."

"Yes, Mother."

"All right, dear girl, get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Goodnight."

Her mother gave her another hug before quietly leaving the room.

Catherine sighed and finished clearing off the vanity. Then she looked around the depressingly silent room, and her eyes fell on the jacket she had left on the chair.

After a second's hesitation, Catherine pulled the jacket over her shoulders, glancing around as if afraid someone might see her. Then she walked over to the window and unlatched it, pushing it open.

Taking a careful seat on the windowsill, Catherine bundled the worn, fine garment about herself and gazed out into the night.

What on earth would life be like now?

* * *

By the by, apologies for the length of this thing... I didn't know it would be so big... sheepish grin :D


	13. In between chapter

**Author Note**: Granted, this is probably getting tiring for you guys to hear, but I am sorry for taking so long. Writer's block, combined with schoolwork and general procrastination, are not good factors to add in if one hopes to finish this story before Christmas (by the way, that's probably not going to happen). As for this chapter, this is more of one of those necessary fillers you absolutely NEED to have in order to move on, but other than that, it's not really that interesting (at least by my book). I probably could have summed up everything in here in a simple paragraph, but then it wouldn't feel much like a story, would it? So, this is what you get, read it if you want, and I'll try to get up a more interesting (and romantically-inclined) chapter next time. Though that probably won't be until May at the latest, since I have about four papers due in April for college... two of which are for the same class O.O this is going to be painful...

Oh, and I probably won't post anything throughout the month of April so don't spend too much time checking. Sorry 'bout that...

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Thomas splashed water onto his face in an effort to wake up. He rose from the sink, shaking his head like a dog and casting droplets into the air. Wiping at his face, he grasped his beard to squeeze out the water, and carefully smoothed the hair down. Then he took a deep breath and stared at himself in his bathroom mirror.

It was the start of the week, the day after Sunday, and he hoped—he sincerely hoped—that his mother did not have any plans for him.

But, Thomas thought as he began to comb his hair, she probably did. After all, ladies of Corona still knew the prince was eligible. Their nagging would force husbands to send in daughters to be seen by him and receive his mumbled pleasantries. Nobles seeking access to the throne would march their girls across the country, up High Street, and through the palace doors just so he could see them. Why—there had even been some girls _not_ from Corona. Princess Francesca of Gralt had come in yesterday and Dianne, niece of a Pharxian duke, had arrived the day before that. And then, of course, there had been the Emperor of Auxuria's daughter, who did not know a word of his language, and yet still was expected to be a viable candidate.

And he was tired of it.

No, he was more than tired of it.

He was worn out.

His patience was spent, his nerves limp from the exertion, and he honestly felt he could not endure another month, day, or even an hour of this madness.

Rolling these thoughts around in his mind, Thomas entered his bedroom to finish preparing for the morning.

The chamber was dismal and quiet, having been so ever since Frederick's departure for Livesley. The curtains on the windows were still drawn tight, blocking out the majority of sunlight and causing the room to appear darker than it really was. An unsettling gloom fell upon Thomas's shoulders as he began gathering clothes for the long day ahead. All he had slated on the schedule for that morning was work. Work and appointments with foreign ambassadors as well as whatever little brunches and teas his mother wanted him to attend. And he _would_ attend them. He would sit at his desk and do the work because he had nothing else to do—he would listen to officials drone on about economics because he had yet more of nothing else to do—and he would endure the matchmaking because he had absolutely, completely nothing else in the world he could do.

And he missed his cousin—a lot. Coupled with this, he was worried about him.

A knock at the door dredged Thomas up from his self-pity and he went over to answer it.

The cheerful face of his manservant, Ferdinand, did not improve his mood.

"Morning, your Highness." Ferdinand greeted, bowing.

Thomas frowned, muttering, "What brings you here so early in the morning?"

"Early?" The servant let out a slight laugh. "Sir, you've slept straight through lunch."

His eyes widened, "_What_? I slept in?"

"Clearly you decided not to join with the living today. Her Majesty sent me up here to see if you were feeling well. And-," he reached into his front pocket, withdrawing an envelope, "-you missed your mail call."

"No I—I can't have-." He stared helplessly at the man.

Ferdinand shrugged, "Well, you did, and if you'd be so kind as to-?"

"Don't bother me with that, Ferdinand! I need to be in a meeting with the duke of Gavin within half an hour!" Thomas rushed back into his room, hastily grabbing the clothes from his bed.

Ferdinand trotted into the room, shaking his head. "Well it's no wonder you've slept in, sir. You haven't even bothered to open the curtains."

Thomas, who had now started stripping off his pajamas, yelped when the servant yanked open the curtains to expose his room to the glory of the sun.

The prince squinted, groaning, "Ferdinand, did you have to-?"

"Her Majesty told me to get you up and to make sure you got dressed and I'll follow her to the letter. Speaking of letters, here's yours, by the way."

Thomas snatched the letter from him and set it between his teeth so he could pull a shirt on. Grunting, the prince asked, "Wha else haf I missed t'day?"

Ferdinand, carefully fastening the curtains back, answered over his shoulder, "You've missed that meeting with the duke of Calscon. And the queen informed me that you also managed to ruin whatever chance you had with Lady Winifred's daughter Lydia."

He snorted, "Did I haf a chance wit'er anywah?"

"Not since you neglected to breakfast with them."

"Pity." Thomas jumped up and down, struggling to shove his foot into the left leg of a pair of trousers. "Blast, why wo' dese things fit?"

Ferdinand raised an eyebrow, "I believe those are Master Hadrian's, sir."

"Wha d'you mean—oh. Righ." The prince frowned.

"I'll go fetch you the right ones, your Highness. In the meantime, why don't you button up that shirt of yours?"

"Okay." Thomas did as instructed, and then realized he had a letter in his mouth. He removed it in puzzlement. "Where on earth did you get this, Ferdinand?"

"Morning post, sir." Ferdinand replied, pulling out an armful of trousers from his master's chest of drawers.

"Well, who's it from?"

"A lady, according to the handwriting."

"A lady?" Thomas looked up and saw that his servant had come up to him. The prince selected the top pair of trousers, "Oh—those will do."

Ferdinand shook his head, "Your Highness, I don't think you want-."

"Doesn't matter if they match or not—I'll be in my office all day. Here, take this." He gave him the letter and continued dressing. As he fumbled with his belt, Thomas asked, "Anyway, Ferdinand, did you say a lady wrote that letter?"

"Might be one from your future bride." Ferdinand suggested, handing him the letter again.

He rolled his eyes, "Brilliant, just what I need on a day like today. More reminders on how nice it would be if I'd propose 'just in time for a spring wedding'. 'Candlelight dinners preferred'. 'We'll name the first son Ellington', and on and on they go. Perhaps this one will be asking about silverware for the reception, or, even better, what relatives we're going to exclude from the guest list." Thomas gave a short, humorless laugh as he read the return address. Then, because he was not quite sure he understood, he read it again.

"I don't know which lady would be writing you from Dean, considering we had all of them over about seven weeks ago." Ferdinand said, watching as his prince quickly opened the envelope.

Thomas scanned the words, his heart lightening with every sentence. A wide grin began to form across his face. Then he glanced down at himself, frowning.

"What am I wearing?"

"Grey on grey, from the looks of it." The servant said, appraising him.

He shook his head and began to remove his shirt, ordering, "Ferdinand, quick, get me something with color. Blast it all—get me something that looks nice!"

"Right away, your Highness."

"Cancel all appointments." Thomas said, catching the new shirt Ferdinand threw to him. He jerked it over his shoulders, declaring, "I don't care what's happening today."

"But the Emperor of Auxuria's representative is coming over to accept your marriage proposal for the imperial princess." Ferdinand pointed out, offering him a choice of two different pairs of pants.

Thomas grabbed one, replying doubtfully, "I didn't give any proposal."

"Doesn't matter. In their country-."

"Tell them it was all a big mistake."

Ferdinand grinned, "He's not going to like that."

"Send him to my father then and he'll handle it." Thomas said, pulling on the vest he had just been given. He began to do up the buttons, glancing at his far-off reflection in the mirror of his bathroom.

His manservant nodded, "Very well. And what about your appointment with-?"

"Ferdinand."

"Yes sir?"

"Where's my mother?" Thomas adjusted his collar to tie his cravat, gave up, and allowed Ferdinand do it for him.

"In her studio." Ferdinand responded, easily tying a neat knot.

"All right." He gave himself another glance into the mirror before patting the man on the back. "I'll see you later."

"Good day, your Highness."

Thomas grinned, "I certainly hope so."

* * *

The queen of Corona's studio was tucked away in one of the corner turrets off the royal living quarters. It was a pleasant room. Spacious, airy, with windows cut into both the walls and ceiling to provide plenty of lighting, and a smooth wooden floor that shone under the sunrays. There was very little furniture: a chair or two, a small, worn table on which to set paints, some easels, and rolls of canvas resting neatly on a shelf.

When Thomas entered, he found his mother quietly painting a water landscape. She had just started to add in the outline of sailing ships, and was currently mixing her paints to get the appropriate shade of brown. The queen had always been a good artist—skilled, creative, and inhumanly patient. She also tended to focus her concentration so much as to block out any competing distractions.

Thomas cleared his throat, and, when that alert failed to get a response, he spoke.

"Good afternoon, Mother."

The queen did not look up from her painting, but asked calmly, "Are you feeling well, dear? You did not get up at your usual hour."

"Erm—I'm aware of that."

"I sent Ferdinand to look in on you." The queen started to fill in the prow of a ship. "Did you get your letter and schedule?"

He nodded, "I did get my letter and I—I have some questions about the schedule."

She looked over at him, "Yes?"

"Well-," he withdrew the letter from his vest pocket, unfolding it, "-see, I received a letter from Cat and I thought, if I didn't have anything to-."

"You missed your meetings this morning as well as breakfast with Lady Winifred and her daughter. Do you really want to spend the rest of the day away from your work, Tommy?" The queen demanded, looking at him.

Thomas gazed into her familiar blue eyes, uncertain how to go about saying what he wanted to say.

His mother turned back to her canvas, continuing, "Not to mention, Lady Winifred's sister is coming over with her daughters as well and I told them we'd have afternoon tea together. Do you really want to disappoint them?"

"Well no, but—but _I_ didn't say that I would have tea with them, Mother. _You_ said we would. I didn't even know about it until just now."

"And?"

"And I don't—I don't-," he took a deep breath, deciding, "-I don't want to do this anymore, Mother."

"You don't want to have tea?"

"No." Thomas said, his voice getting stronger with every word, "I don't want to see any more ladies, or their daughters, or their nieces, or their first cousins twice removed on their grandfather's side that live in the duchy of Calk. I don't want to have any more—any more teas or lunches or whatever. And I certainly don't want to spend hours mumbling about meaningless nonsense when there is something else I would rather be doing."

There was a moment of silence as the queen finished one of the sailing ships and dabbed her brush to start on another. Then she looked back at him, stating simply, "You want me to stop trying to find you a wife."

He closed his eyes, affirming, "Yes, Mother, I do."

"So what are you going to do instead, Tommy? When you take on the throne and responsibilities that follow, you're not going to want to spend time finding yourself a wife. You have to think about this now, dear." She added more brown to the ship's hull. "Now, when you still have a chance to make a good decision."

"I know I do. And I will think about it—I _am_ thinking about it. But I just—I don't want to have 'little matchmaking meetings' arranged by my mother. If I'm going to find a girl, I want to do it on my own terms and at my own pace."

His mother paused in her strokes, and a slight smirk crossed her face. It was a triumphant expression, but it was a triumph that her son did not notice.

The queen laid aside her brush and turned towards him. She took his hand in both of hers, and smiled up at her son. "My dear Tommy."

"Yes, Mother?" He asked hesitantly, sure he was going to be reprimanded.

"As you have asked, I will no longer attempt to find you a wife. It will be your job now, not mine, and I promise to not get involved."

"Really?" He was surprised at her frankness.

"Yes." She squeezed his hand fondly. "You find her on your own, and I am sure that if she makes you happy, I will be happy."

"No more brunches?"

She shook her head, "No more brunches. Or teas, or dinners, or anything else."

Thomas grinned and leaned down, impulsively kissing his mother on the cheek. "Thank you, Mother. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. Now-," she released his hand and picked up her paintbrush once more, "-where are you off to?"

He had already started for the door, "Cat's house. Her family arrived home yesterday evening."

"Will you get your reports done on time? Your father won't stand for lateness." She reminded him.

"I'll start them immediately when I get back. Good day, Mother."

"Goodbye."

Thomas closed the door behind him, and the queen returned to working.

A second later, the king's voice drifted up from one of the chairs facing the windows, "Did our son just come in here and wake me up from my nap?"

"He did." The queen replied, tidily finishing up her last ship.

Her husband groaned, rising to his feet and stretching, "Well, what did Thomas want?"

"He informed me that he no longer wants my interference with his love life."

"Thomas has a love life?" The king grinned, raising his eyebrows. "Hmm—you get new surprises every day."

His wife rolled her eyes, "Will, don't be silly. You know perfectly well I've been trying to find him a suitable girl."

"Yes, I know. But didn't you also say-," he leaned down, picking up his newspaper from where he had dropped it, "-that _he's_ already found the girl he was going to marry?"

"I did say that." The queen answered, watching as he trotted over.

"Then why did you make him suffer through all those ridiculous little tea parties when you know full well he hates them?"

"Were you awake enough to hear what we were talking about?" She asked, outlining the ships' sails.

The king pursed his lips thoughtfully, "I heard parts of it."

His wife smiled, "Did you hear him say that if he wanted to find a girl he was going to do it at his own terms and his own pace?"

"Dimly."

"He used to say he never wanted to get married."

"Aha." He set his hands on his wife's shoulders. "You're happy there's improvement."

She sighed, "I'm happy that he's finally admitting that marriage is not such an impossible idea after all."

"So this girl has started to change his mind, has she?"

The queen tilted her head, "I think so. Even if he doesn't realize it yet."

"What's her name?" He asked, admiring his wife's painting.

"Catherine."

* * *

There was nothing else for it. If they were going to bake apple pie, she would have to take a trip down to the market.

Catherine sighed, leaning back to rest on her heels as she gazed at the disappointingly sparse contents of the cupboard. No flour. How on earth had they forgotten to get the flour? They had gotten everything else—salt, butter, apples, eggs, white sugar, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and even some of the home dairy's best milk—but still no flour. Without flour, there would be no pie.

"Mother-," Catherine said, looking over at where Lady Marie was setting out the rest of the ingredients on the counter, "-we have no flour."

"Did you check _all_ the cabinets, dear?" Her mother asked, examining the label on one of the packages.

"Yes. Every single one."

"What about the little one in the corner?"

"That one too." She groaned, rising to her feet.

Lady Marie shrugged, turning to face her, "Then I suppose we're just going to have to save the baking for another day."

"But Daddy asked us specifically. That's part of the reason we visited the farm on the way back home." Catherine pointed out, frowning.

Her mother nodded, "I know it is, dear. Although, now that I think about it, you can just go next door and borrow some flour."

"The Marigold sisters have their nephew visiting today." Catherine said sullenly.

"Thaddeus?"

She nodded, her jaw set, "Yes, and you know I don't like him."

Lady Marie tilted her head to the side, "He's just a man, Katie."

"Just a man who falls hopelessly lovesick over every girl he sees." Her daughter muttered, crossing her arms and setting her back against the counter.

"You don't have to talk to him." Lady Marie reminded patiently.

"_He's_ going to talk to me, Mother. And he'll get so nervous he'll forget half of what he was saying, and then spend the rest of the time sighing longingly while I dig through the kitchen trying to find a bag of flour. The man is intolerable."

Her mother sighed at the melodrama, "Honestly, Katie, a week ago you would never have reacted like this."

"What?"

"Ever since the wedding you've been rather irritable with everyone." Lady Marie said, turning to her. "Even with your sisters you seem to have lost all patience."

"Well I—I might be a little—annoyed." Catherine replied hesitantly.

"When your father asked you to bake apple pie, he was mostly doing it so that you had something to do with yourself."

"He likes apple pie."

Her mother shrugged, "Yes, he does. But he also likes to see his daughters happy. And lately, dear, you have not been very happy."

Catherine looked down at the floor for a long minute, trying to think of what to say. Finally she murmured, "I miss Lizzie."

"I know you do."

The girl smiled wistfully, "She used to tease Thaddeus sometimes—talking to him and tossing her head a lot. She stopped after she met George."

"And now she's married to George." Lady Marie declared matter-of-factly.

"Yes she is."

"She's gone on with her life, dear, and so must you."

Catherine looked at her mother with green eyes that revealed a strange mix of sadness and defiance. Lady Marie reached over and gently swept a stray hair from her daughter's forehead.

"Pretty girl. You _have_ been missing her terribly, haven't you?"

She sighed, "She's my best friend. Without her, and with Frieta and Mary back at school, I don't really have anyone to talk to."

"You have Isobel."

"I don't see Isobel every day."

Her mother shook her head, allowing, "No. But you do see her at least once a week, and you can make it a point to see her more often."

"Won't you need help with the girls?" Catherine frowned.

Lady Marie raised her eyebrows, "I have no more wedding preparations to deal with, and as a consequence, I plan to be home a lot more. I can handle a few hours without your help, Katie. Right now, you need your time far more than I need it."

Her daughter smiled, "Thank you, Mother."

"You're quite welcome. Now, how about you get ready to go to the market?"

"But I am ready."

Lady Marie grinned, "Not entirely—you'll need your shoes, dear."

"Oh." She looked down at her bare feet in surprise.

"They're in the front hall. On your way over, please stop by the sitting room and make sure your sisters aren't getting into trouble. It's far too quiet in there and I want to know what they've been up to." Lady Marie muttered as she began to put away the perishable ingredients.

"Yes ma'am." Catherine left the kitchen and entered the hallway, feeling slightly better.

She walked down the corridor, her thoughts occupied primarily with her sister. Elizabeth and her husband would be getting back from the peninsula any day now. Technically, the honeymoon was not supposed to have lasted as long as it had, but Catherine was not really surprised. Her sister had just gotten married. She was not going to let George go back to work so soon when she could convince him otherwise.

"Not that it would take much convincing." Catherine murmured, glancing absently into the sitting room.

It took a second before she realized what she was seeing. After that second had passed, however, Catherine was hurrying into the room to rescue the prince of Corona.

Thomas was sitting upon the couch, with Catherine's three youngest sisters clustered about him. He seemed quite unharmed, despite the trio of little girls eagerly feeling his beard and offering admiring remarks.

"Its really smooth, Tommy." Allison said, petting his cheek.

Georgiana shook her head, poking her fingers at his chin, "No, it's bristly and rough like a scrub brush."

"Daddy needs to have one so we can do this all day long." Eleanor decided, receiving hums of agreement in return.

"What on earth do you think you are doing?"

The foursome looked up, and Thomas smiled slightly, "Hello, Cat."

Catherine shook her head, demanding, "Let go of his beard, all of you! The poor man doesn't want you tugging on him!"

Allison pouted, "But he told us we could, Katie."

"Have you ever felt his mane, Katie?" Georgiana asked, setting her face against Thomas's and sighing happily. "It's _so_ soft."

Catherine walked over to them, ushering Eleanor off the couch. "No, and I don't intend to. Now let him go."

"But Katie-."

"_Now_, Georgiana."

Her sisters reluctantly released their captive and trooped out of the room, comparing notes on Thomas's beard.

Catherine turned back to the prince, frowning, "Did they hurt you, Tommy?"

Thomas laughed, running a hand along his jaw, "No, I'm fine. They weren't pulling too hard." He glanced at her as she took a seat beside him. "Apparently, they've never felt one before."

She rolled her eyes, "Oh no—they've felt one before. Uncle Alfred had an impressive set of whiskers until he got tired of them tugging at it. He eventually shaved down to muttonchops, which greatly disappointed most of us."

He raised an eyebrow, "'_Most_ of us'?"

"Lizzie and Mary hate facial hair almost as much as my mother does."

"And yourself?"

"I haven't decided yet." She tilted her chin, a small smirk crossing her lips.

Thomas grinned.

Catherine's smile widened, "Okay, so I didn't expect to see you here in my sitting room. Who let you in?"

"Georgiana." He answered promptly.

"Ah."

Thomas nodded, describing: "Yes. She marched me in here, plopped me down, and started to tell me all about Dean and the sheep and the wedding and so on. She had a lot to say about it, and she asked me if I had seen her in her dress, and I said I had, and then she asked me if I thought she was pretty, and I said I had. And _then_ we started talking about the sheep. Georgiana likes sheep."

"And then the others discovered you were here and decided to join in." The girl added, already seeing how the event played out.

"And then the others joined in, you are correct." He scratched his cheek, remarking, "I've actually been here for about ten minutes. I would've gotten up to find you but they wouldn't let me move."

"So why are you here, anyway? That's the real question."

"Well, I received your letter and I thought I'd pay a visit." He said as casually as possible.

Catherine smiled knowingly, "As friends are apt to do?"

"Exactly."

"And what about Freddy? Is he lounging around the house somewhere too? Do they have him up the chimney?"

The prince glanced to the side, murmuring, "Freddy's ah—he's not here right now."

"What do you mean?"

Thomas did not answer right away, but immediately Catherine saw she had touched something quite sensitive. The young man's face changed from one of contentment to serious concern. There was a distinct tensing of his jaw and his eyes had darkened. He also sat straighter, almost as if he were preparing himself for an unfortunate but necessary undertaking.

Catherine started to speak, "Tommy, are you-?"

Before she could say anything more, however, her mother had entered the room.

"Katie, could you also stop by the Mondegreens' stall and buy some—oh." Lady Marie watched as the prince got hastily to his feet. She smiled at his polite bow, "Hello, Thomas."

Thomas rose, "Good afternoon, Lady Marie. It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Did you have some business with my husband?"

"No, ma'am. Not today."

Lady Marie glanced at her daughter, and Catherine decided quickly, "He's going to come with me to the market, Mother." She looked up at him, adding, "Aren't you, Tommy?"

"I—yes." Thomas replied, turning back to Lady Marie. "Yes, I thought I'd go with you to the market."

The woman smiled, "Well that's good to hear, since I've thought of a few other things I'll need this week. You'll probably appreciate the extra pair of hands, Katie."

"Perhaps. So what—what did you need, Mother?" Catherine asked, tucking her hair back behind her ear and coming over to see the list in her mother's hand.

Thomas cleared his throat and glanced around the room, listening as Lady Marie detailed the various items on the list. His gaze fell on a familiar, slim volume resting open on the nearby side table. The pages were scrawled across with penciled-in words, little notes edging the margins and jammed into corners. He allowed himself a faint smile, momentarily forgetting Frederick's absence in favor of a fonder memory of wrestling with his cousin over a poetry book.

"Oh, and before I forget-," Thomas suddenly realized that Lady Marie was walking over to him. "Thomas-," she said, holding out a letter, "-I was just going to send Katie to the post office but, since you are here, could you possibly take this back to your mother when you get the chance?"

The prince accepted the neat envelope, smiling, "Of course, Lady Marie."

"Thank you so much, dear. Katie, do you have the money?"

"Yes, Mother." Catherine called from the hall where she was slipping her shoes on.

"All right then, have a good trip to the market." Lady Marie declared, watching as Thomas made his way to the front door.

* * *

Five minutes later, Thomas and Catherine were walking past the houses in her neighborhood. It was a brilliantly beautiful day, with the sun shining down and the broad, cloudless expanse of blue sky stretching above. Due to the hour, the street was quiet, and the sounds of crashing waves and crying seagulls filled the silence.

Catherine glanced over at the tall prince walking beside her, studying his face. She could still see traces of his earlier concern, and wondered if it would be appropriate to ask him about it. If Frederick was not with him, then something clearly had happened. Already, horrible ideas were popping into her mind, most of them built around the man's propensity to flirt with the wives of young noblemen. Frederick had probably gone and gotten himself murdered by a jealous fiancé by offering the bride-to-be a creampuff. No wonder Thomas was upset. Why, if _her_ cousin had managed to earn his death by passing out poorly crafted pastries she-.

"I hope I didn't interrupt any of your plans for this afternoon?" Thomas asked suddenly, breaking through her train of thought.

"What?" Catherine asked, her mind still occupied with the sort of misdeeds a man could commit with party desserts.

He looked at her, and she amended, "I'm sorry, Tommy. What did you say?"

"You didn't have anything else planned for today, did you? I didn't want you to make an excuse about going to the market when you had-."

She shook her head, interrupting, "I was already going to the market, actually."

"You were?"

"Yes. My father wanted apple pie for dessert tonight after dinner, but we're missing the flour. And-," Catherine reached into the basket hanging from her arm, pulling out the list her mother had given her, "-we have other groceries besides."

He coughed awkwardly, "Right. I had forgotten."

Catherine watched him for a long moment before finally deciding, "You're distracted."

"Distracted." Thomas feigned a laugh, "Cat, I don't think you-."

He caught her eye, and saw that any excuse he made would be fruitless. She knew something was wrong. He did not know how she knew; but she did know and she—she wanted to… _help_?

This realization, more than anything else the girl could have said, caused him to drop his guard.

"I am distracted." Thomas replied.

"Why?"

He shrugged, admitting doubtfully, "I haven't been having the best few days as of late."

She lifted an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue his explanation.

"Well, I've just—I've had a lot of work to do. I haven't had much time to myself, and any free time I did have was taken up by these absurd matchmaking brunches my mother planned for me. And Freddy—Freddy is—he's…" He shook his head, uncomfortably rubbing the back of his neck.

"Where is he, Tommy?" Catherine asked quietly.

"He's in Livesley."

"Livesley?" She was surprised. She had been expecting something much worse involving a éclair.

"Yes, he's in Livesley. He's going to be staying there for about five weeks due to family business." Thomas cleared his throat, clarifying, "In fact, he's starting his training as the next duke of Livesley."

Catherine's eyes narrowed, "But he's the youngest son."

"I know. But none of the other sons want the position, so it falls to him."

The girl did not respond at first, and instead thought over the information she had just received. Clearly, Thomas was bothered by his cousin's new responsibility. But why?

She looked up, "Did he know this would happen?

He shook his head again, "No, he didn't know. After all, traditionally the seat falls to the oldest son just like it does with monarchies. But William, Freddy's eldest brother, decided to make a career of the military instead."

"So—so Freddy's in Livesley for about five weeks?"

"Yes."

"All right." Catherine said, watching his face. "Then what's wrong? You've been apart from him before, haven't you?"

Thomas frowned, replying dismissively, "Of course I have."

"Then why are you upset about it?"

The prince rolled his eyes, "Well, Cat, it—it's not just 'cause I'm lonely. I mean, I'll miss him—I _have_ missed him, and terribly. But there's a lot more to it. A whole lot more to it than just missing him."

She nodded, "And what is that?"

"Freddy was—he was never prepared to take this role. And since none of his other brothers want the seat, he _has_ to take it and he's doing it alone. When we were younger and he got into trouble, I was usually around to look out for him. But now that we're adults taking separate paths, I can't be there for him."

"You're worried about him." Catherine stated calmly.

Thomas bowed his head, murmuring, "Incredibly so."

She set a hand on his shoulder, "He'll be all right."

He closed his eyes, "I can only imagine what will happen. Freddy will fail, his family will be disgraced, and there will be a civil war over who gets the seat in Livesley. And I'll have to deal with it as prince, and I won't be able to help him at all."

"That's not going to happen."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I don't." Catherine replied truthfully. "But you could trust him a bit more."

Thomas let out a non-committal huff.

"No, I'm serious. Freddy's smart and he loves Livesley. He will do so well, he'll probably surprise himself. You don't have to worry about him."

He looked at her, and saw such a strong assurance in those green eyes that he really could not deny it. She was right. She had to be.

Thomas smiled, nodding, "Yeah. Yes, you're—you're perfectly correct. He can do it."

"Better?"

"Getting there."

"Good." She said, evidently pleased.

The conversation fell into a brief lull as they continued their journey down the street and onto one of the busier thoroughfares of the city. Carts of various kinds trundled past, and the general hum of human voices and grinding wheels rose up around them. To their right, a fishmonger began setting up his stall, barking orders to his younger son. At their left, two women were arguing over the price of a barrel of mead. There was also a ship coming into dock, with sailors calling out to their comrades on the pier, tossing lines to them in order to fasten the boat and begin unloading its cargo.

The prince turned away from the group of sailors, asking, "So, speaking of familial relations, have you heard word from your recently-married sister?"

She stiffened, shooting him a slightly injured glance.

"Ah." Thomas said sympathetically. "That's how it is."

Catherine shook her head, "No it—it's not terrible or anything. Not like what you're going through in the least. I mean, I know Lizzie will be fine and happy and everything. But I—well I miss her, obviously. I don't have anyone to talk to now that she's married to George."

He suggested, "What about your other sisters—those two older girls in the bridal party who kept winking at young men on their way down the aisle."

Catherine smiled somewhat, "Frieta and Mary are back at school, incidentally, where your cousin is now trying to learn the trade of a duke."

"And the scary girl who asks too many questions and I can never remember her name?" Thomas asked, glancing at her.

"I can talk to Isobel, that is true."

"And you have other friends, I'm sure."

She sighed sadly, "It's not the same."

Thomas agreed, "Naturally, it wouldn't be. But it is _something_, Cat. You're not alone out here, and, what's more, I think this will actually be good for you."

Catherine's eyes widened in consternation, and she opened her mouth to retort but he interrupted.

"No, listen to me. It could be good for you in the sense that now you're forced to go find someone to talk to." He smiled, cocking his head, "And isn't that what you said Lizzie always wanted you to do?"

"She also wants me to get married and be fabulously wealthy." The girl said dryly.

Thomas beamed, "Well, you can always do that too."

Catherine tried to keep a smile from appearing on her face, scolding: "I can't believe you would actually say something like that! There you were, moping and pouting about Freddy going to Livesley, but when I say the slightest thing about Lizzie being gone, _you_ say it's good for me."

"I know. I'm a terrible person." He pulled a long, despairing sort-of face.

She smirked, "Stop that, you look ridiculous."

Thomas only emphasized his expression of hopelessness, letting out a low moan.

Catherine laughed, "Stop it, Tommy."

"Can't. Too busy bullying you into a better mood."

"How do you know it's working?"

"Because it is."

They grinned at each other, both genuinely happy for the first time in nearly a week. Then, of course, they realized this, and their smiles faded into faintly sheepish nods of understanding.

"I suppose we're not quite as bad off as we first thought." Thomas remarked, looking at the girl.

Catherine shook her head, "Apparently not."

"'Cuse me! Pard'n me! Outta the way, you two!" A driver, perched atop a coal wagon, roared as he sped towards them. Thomas and Catherine hastily scooted away, watching as the driver turned down a side street so fast, his left wheels picked up from the pavement.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash and the explosive sound of fifty irritated chickens taking flight.

"I guess he didn't know that's where Mr. Arbor likes to keep his hens." Catherine said, already hearing the driver's hurried apologies to Mrs. Arbor's shrill complaints.

"Doesn't look like it." Thomas winced as feathers and clucking chickens launched into the sky. "Want to go find a bag of flour?"

"Yes." Catherine said, watching as the driver ran away from a furious coal-streaked woman clutching a battered chicken. "Mrs. Smith's shop has the brand Mother likes."

"Mrs. Smith it is, then."

"Oh, and by the way." Catherine started, looking up at him.

"Yes?"

"If you're not busy working—and you need someone to talk to—you can come over to our house anytime you want. My sisters would love to see you."

Thomas smiled, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."


	14. Taking care of the girls

**Author Note**: Sooo... I'M SO SORRY about not updating this since March... I feel awful, but not surprised. At any rate, I hope all of you who are Americans or who celebrate it, that you all had a great Fourth of July! :D yay! haha holidays are nice :D anyhoo, thank you guys sooo much for waiting, for constantly reviewing (I really appreciate that considering I don't update nearly enough), for faving and so on and so forth! God bless you all! :D Oh, and I hope you get the reference in here! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

The prince of Corona crawled slowly forward, trying to be as quiet as possible as he crept across the floor. Unfortunately, his left elbow kept colliding with the back of the couch, and each time, the little girl next to him whispered an urgent 'shhh!' that more than likely had just given away their position. Thomas nodded and continued to scoot his way across the floor, holding his breath.

Allison suddenly set her hand against his shoulder, her eyes wide.

"Oh no." Thomas said, staring at her. "You don't think-?"

"Aha!" Above them, Georgiana stuck her head out from behind the back of the sofa, beaming victoriously. "Found you!"

Allison immediately protested, "Georgiana that's not fair! Tommy was being too loud!"

"Doesn't matter!" Her younger sister shook her head. "I found you and now _you're_ 'it'!"

"No! I don't want to be it!" She crossed her arms sullenly.

"What's all the fuss about? Did you find someone?" Emma asked, sticking her head from around the doorway to the hall.

"Yes, and now Ally is 'it'!" Georgiana declared, bouncing happily on the couch cushions.

Eleanor came up beside Emma, asking, "Really?"

"Yep!"

Eleanor grinned at her twin, "Ha! Now you have to find all of us!"

"That's not how the game goes!" Allison pouted, resolutely getting to her feet.

Thomas, only too aware of how the argument would proceed, let out a groan as he stood up. "Girls, girls—I'll be 'it'. Again."

"But you were 'it' before I was!" Georgiana reminded, gaping up at him.

Emma nodded, "Yes, Tommy. You can't be 'it' again so soon."

"'Course he can!" Allison retorted, sensing an escape. "He can be 'it' if he wants!"

Eleanor rolled her eyes, "Ally, you're just saying that because you hate seeking!"

"I do not! I just like hiding better!"

Thomas coughed, announcing, "All right—I'm going to start counting now." He set his head against the wall.

"Ally, just because you-."

"One, two, three-."

Emma's eyes widened, "Wait! Wait, Tommy! We haven't started hiding yet!"

"Four, five… six, seven-." He plowed on, listening to the various shrieks as little girls raced to find another hiding place.

"Eeep!" Georgiana's yelp came from somewhere in the hallway.

"Ei-ight, nine-," he glanced around slightly, pleased to find the sitting room deserted. "Ten."

Thomas waited a full five seconds before stepping away and loudly proclaiming, "Ready or not—here I come!"

He was greeted by silence. The young man smiled at his success.

It was Thursday. Lord Brian and his wife were on an overnight trip to the pasturelands, and would return home the following morning. Apparently there was a shipment problem that required Lord Brian's attention. In the meantime, back at home, their five youngest daughters were left in the care of their second oldest. Thomas, who had been paying a visit after dealing with some business downtown, soon found himself involved in many games of tag, house, dominoes, and an elaborate tea party/ball with some frilly dolls. They had only recently started playing hide-and-seek, but the prince was getting tired of trying to cram himself in small spaces or opening cupboards, and so decided to do a little hiding of his own.

Thomas entered the kitchen, raising his nose and inhaling the delicious fragrance of dinner cooking. He grinned, "Smells good."

Catherine, who had been at the hearth ensuring that the beef and rice stew had not boiled over, glanced at him. "I thought you were playing hide-and-seek with the girls."

"I _am_ playing hide-and-seek."

"Well they're not in here-," she turned back to the pot to stir, "-the kitchen is supposed to be off-limits."

"Well then, I'm taking a break." He replied, allowing himself another deep sniff.

"You have three minutes. Then they'll come looking for you."

"Three minutes it is, then." Thomas let out a sigh and sat down at the table, glancing over to the basket of freshly baked biscuits set at his elbow. His eyes lit up, "Do you need someone to taste-test these?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" I have been told that I am an excellent judge of food."

Catherine grinned, teasing, "Oh, I can see that."

"Cat." Thomas said, feigning an injured tone.

"I'm kidding. But no—there's only enough there for each person to have one." She added more seasoning to the stew.

"What if I ate mine?" He suggested.

She shook her head, looking over her shoulder, "Nope. Not before dinner."

"You sound like the palace cooks. I can remember, back when I was a little boy, being scolded by the Head Chef for sticking my fingers in all kinds of pies and dishes. And there was this one time when Freddy, myself, and a couple of my other cousins attempted a quest to steal a plate of cookies."

"How did that end?" The girl turned around completely, a knowing smirk on her face.

"Badly." Thomas answered, wincing. "We were caught sneaking out with the platter, were refused dessert, and spent the rest of the night washing dishes."

Catherine laughed, "Thievery is a trait of the royal family, then?"

Thomas shrugged, glancing up at her, "Only for the most admirable of members."

"That's a matter of opinion."

He merely smiled at her.

"Although-," Catherine inclined her head slightly, "-what _is_ admirable is the fact that you were willing to stay and help me with the girls. You just came by for a few minutes—you had no idea they'd pull you into endless games of hide-and-seek."

"No, but I don't mind it." The prince responded cheerfully.

Catherine's smile widened, "All the same—thank you so much. I really could not have gotten dinner started if you weren't here to keep an eye on them. Usually Lizzie would help and we'd switch off jobs, but she's busy setting up house in Dean at the moment."

"So they finally came back from their honeymoon?"

She sighed, "Yes, they came back—a week later than they planned. Lizzie had too much fun on the peninsula. She probably didn't want to leave."

Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Georgiana. She glared up at him, arms crossed and face scrunched up in indignation. "Tommy! You're _supposed_ to be seeking!"

"Oh—well, I—I-." He glanced to Catherine, pleading for help.

She cleared her throat, "Georgiana, dear, it's okay. Tommy needs a break."

"But he's 'it' and I've been hiding for _hours_!" The little girl claimed dramatically, rolling her head back.

Catherine shook her head, scolding, "You've barely been hiding for more than a minute, if even that. And at any rate, dinner's almost ready and all of you girls need to come into the kitchen and wash up." She looked over at the prince, "Tommy, could you round them up, please?"

"Certainly." He rose to his feet and offered his hand to Georgiana.

The little girl frowned, apparently not sure if she wanted to take it or not.

Catherine narrowed her eyes, "_Georgiana_. Go—help him find the others, please."

Georgiana shrugged and half-heartedly placed her small hand into Thomas's larger one. Then she followed him out into the hall while her sister started the final preparations for dinner.

* * *

They managed to locate the twins fairly easily, as both had started arguing over space in the linen closet where they had been hiding. Emma, on the other hand, took much more work since she had somehow cloistered herself behind the grandfather clock in the parlor. Thomas eventually was forced to bodily move the heavy clock since Emma was unable to squeeze her way out. And then there was Jane.

Thomas set his shoulder against the clock's face and carefully pushed the ancient timepiece back into position. He straightened, glancing down at Emma, "Where's your sister?"

"Which one?" Emma asked, even as she rubbed her arms where they had been pressed painfully against the clock's back.

"The er-," Thomas strained his memory, "-the quiet one."

"Jane's upstairs." Georgiana answered before her sister could reply. "She's scared of you."

The prince frowned, "What?"

"No she's _not_, Georgiana! She's just shy!" Emma retorted. Then she said bossily, "Go get washed up—Katie said so!"

The little girl stuck out her tongue but did as ordered, marching off after Allison and Eleanor. Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Emma smiled, "Thanks for getting me out. I'll go get Jane. Tell Katie we'll be down in a bit."

Thomas watched, slightly puzzled, as the girl quickly went up the stairs. Then he heard Catherine calling him, and the prince made his way back to the kitchen.

"Yes, Cat?" He asked, walking into the room and finding three little girls at the sink, scrubbing their hands.

Catherine paused on her way to the dining room. She nodded at the kitchen table, "Tommy, can you get the biscuits and the water, please?"

Thomas picked up the basket and pitcher, following her to the dining room through the kitchen's second door.

The table had already been set, and Catherine was lowering the pot of stew onto the sideboard. She then picked up a bowl from the table and began ladling out beef and rice.

"Please fill the glasses, Tommy."

He obliged, pouring water into each cup as Catherine systematically filled the bowls with stew. By the time they had finished, all five little girls were taking their seats at the table. Allison and Eleanor were playing eye-spy with each other, breaking out into giggles for no apparent reason whatsoever. Georgiana was trying out the empty chairs at the table, and Jane was talking quietly to Emma, a book under her arm.

Catherine finished filling the last bowl, looking at Thomas. "Can you put the pot back in the hearth, Tommy?"

Thomas nodded and took the pot of stew, trying to ignore how hungry he was feeling. He hung it carefully in the hearth in the kitchen, paused only to wash his hands, and returned to the dinning room.

Then he took a seat at the head of the table, conscious that this would normally be Lord Brian's chair. Six pairs of green eyes stared at him expectantly.

Thomas gave Catherine a quick look, and she mouthed 'blessing'.

"Right. Um-," he held out his hands, and two little girls grabbed them in an instant. Then he bowed his head, "Our great God, thank You for the meal You have provided. Bless the hands that made it, and—and give Lord Brian and his wife a safe trip home. Amen."

"Amen." The girls released hands to eat.

Well, all but one. Georgiana still had her fingers clasped around Thomas's palm.

"Georgiana, let go." Catherine said, frowning at her sister.

The little girl sighed but did as told, and began to eat her stew.

* * *

After dinner came clean up, with each of the table's occupants carrying dishes from the dining room and into the kitchen. The dishes were set in the sink, the dining room table wiped off, and the remaining food packed up in containers to be taken over to the old general.

"He'll probably be out in his garden still, attending to his petunias." Catherine said, placing a basket of food in the prince's arms. "Take Georgiana with you so he knows you're not some sort of brigand."

Thomas frowned, "Brigand?"

"Just go, Tommy." She smirked, opening the kitchen door and allowing both he and Georgiana out into the back yard.

The late sunset Thomas had expected seemed to have missed its cue. Instead, the night was left to fall into an early darkness. There were also clouds rolling on the far horizon, and he could smell a storm in the air. He should probably leave before too long or he would end up tramping home in the rain.

Georgiana ran over to the fence, shouting, "Mr. Joe! Mr. Joe, we've brought you dinner!"

General Josiah stood from where he knelt amidst his flowerbeds, using a cane to prop himself up. He was a bit bent, and was not near as tall as Thomas, but he had a cheerful smile on his face as he looked over across the fence and to Georgiana. He cleared his throat, "Hello, Georgiana. How's your mum?"

The little girl beamed at him, clinging to the bottom rung of the fence. "She's good. She and Daddy left for the night."

The general frowned and looked up at the approaching Thomas. Instantly, the spark of friendliness in his eyes disappeared to be replaced by a stern glint. He cleared his throat, "Did they, now? And who's this?"

Georgiana glanced at Thomas, replying dismissively, "Oh, that's Tommy. He's our friend."

"He's certainly not _my_ friend." The man muttered, but Georgiana was too busy talking about how the prince made such a good lion to notice.

Thomas, however, _did_ notice the old general's words, and pretended he had not heard anything. Instead, he adjusted the packages to his left arm and held out his hand to shake General Josiah's.

Josiah, however, let out a disapproving 'harrumph!', and asked, "Friend, eh? What sort of friend?"

Thomas let his hand drop, answering uncomfortably, "A good friend, sir."

The general tilted his chin, "What are you doing at the lord's house when the master is not at home?"

"Helping."

Georgiana nodded, absently grabbing Thomas's jacket sleeve. "Katie asked him to stay, Mr. Joe."

Josiah's eyes narrowed into a suspicious squint.

"But only for a few hours—if even." Thomas amended quickly. Then, feeling that this interview would be better if it was short, the prince began to hand over the containers of food. "Anyway, these are for you, General."

The old general accepted the parcels, carefully holding them under one arm. He was still staring at the prince.

Thomas cleared his throat awkwardly and said, "Let's get back inside, Georgiana. Cat—Miss Catherine will be waiting for you."

Georgiana smiled, "All right. Goodbye, Mr. Joe!"

Josiah waved, and then resumed his dour frown.

A moment later, a scolding voice came from the old general's right. "Don't glare at him so, Jethro you old grouch!"

Josiah rolled his eyes, turning to see his other neighbors, the Marigold sisters, sitting at the open window of Edith's (or possibly Edna's) kitchen.

Edith shook her head, correcting her sister, "It's _Josiah_, dear. But really, sir, you shouldn't glare! The prince is such a sweet young man!"

"Handsome too!" Edna added, nodding smartly.

"Why, look how he treats dear little Georgiana!"

"You really can't be angry at him after he does something like that!"

The general snorted, stumping over to the corner of his yard to converse with the sisters. "I'll be angry with him as I please, Ms. Marigold, and Ms. Marigold! He's a man—I don't trust 'em."

"You're a man too, Josiah." Edna pointed out.

Edith observed, "A rather grumpy man."

"Goodnight, ladies." He bowed mockingly, snapping, "I hope the storm blows the shingles off your roofs!"

Before they knew it, the man had hobbled off to his house.

"My, my, what an awful temper, Edna dear." Edith declared, sighing.

"I know, Edith, I know. Comes from his bad back."

"How did he ever injure it? Was it the war?"

Edna shook her head and closed the window, answering, "No—that's how he ruined his knee. He hurt his back when that rag-a-tag nephew of his tried to use him for a ladder."

Her sister smiled, "Oh, I remember that. And Lady Marie had to sort him out best she could until the doctor could be found."

"Do you remember how the doctor came? Wearing a fez from the peninsula, the strange man."

Edith smiled, "So kind though."

"Wasn't he just?" Edna asked.

"Didn't he say he was missing a blue box? I wonder if he ever found it?"

"Oh, I certainly hope he did."

* * *

Thomas and Georgiana entered the kitchen to find Catherine hard at work scrubbing dishes. She looked over at them.

"How's the general?"

"He's fine." Thomas replied vaguely.

Georgiana glanced around, frowning, "Where are Elly and Ally?"

"In the sitting room. They wanted to build a tent out of blankets again." Catherine said, picking up another bowl from the sink.

"Oh, I hope I can be the cow!" Georgiana exclaimed, racing off to the sitting room.

Thomas walked over to where Catherine worked, and leaned against the counter. For a few seconds, he watched her chasing soap bubbles around the curves of a cup.

"Do you need any help?" He asked, finally.

She smiled and held out the recently washed cup. "You can wipe them dry, if you want. But I do want to know—did you get glared at?"

"I did—severely. I'm surprised I'm still living." Thomas remarked, taking the cup and drying it with the spare dishtowel.

She laughed, "Yes, but that's the general for you. It was funny, anytime George or Jo-," Catherine broke off, looking confused.

Thomas raised his eyebrows.

The girl gave him another cup, remedying, "I'm sorry, Tommy—it's just, General Josiah is very protective. He doesn't like us having any men over here when Daddy's not home. He's like a grandfather, honestly."

"A grandfather who stows his sabre in the umbrella stand, right?"

Catherine smiled, "You remembered."

"Well, one does not often forget a piece of information like that." Thomas responded, drying the outer rim of a bowl.

"No, I suppose not."

Thomas gazed at the bowl, and said thoughtfully, "You know, Cat, I feel compelled to tell you that your beef stew was among some of the best I've ever tasted."

The girl plunged her hands back into the dishwater, a please grin crossing her face. "Thank you. But it probably can't compare to what comes out of the palace kitchens."

"Nope." He shook his head, glancing at her. "It's better."

"Tommy, you're too kind."

"Kindness is one of God's great gifts, why should we not use it?" He asked, smiling. "By the way, are you—are you going to attend that party that Lord Macintosh is throwing?"

"Roderick's father?"

"Yes, though I think it's really Rod's mother who's throwing the party. At any rate, I'm going to be there, and I was wondering if you-?"

"Tommy! Tommy, we need help with the tent!" Allison cried, running into the kitchen.

Thomas turned around, "What's the matter?"

"Our tent keeps falling down." Emma explained, coming in with a bunch of pillows in her arms. "We need a chair or something and none of us can get Daddy's chair out of the parlor."

"Why do you have to use Daddy's chair?" Catherine asked.

"It's the biggest." Allison answered simply.

Thomas exchanged glances with Catherine. Then he set down his towel and nodded, "Very well, dear girls. I'll go move the chair."

"Yay!" Allison cheered happily.

Emma smiled, "Thank you, Tommy. We'll be in the sitting room."

"Just know that whatever you do, you'll have to clean it up afterwards." Catherine called as the prince and her sisters departed.

* * *

Thomas crossed his arms, surveying the newly-built tent. There were blankets draped from the top of the couch, across armchairs (including Lord Brian's tall chair from the parlor), and fastened to the backs of a few dining room chairs. Pillows were stacked in various places to provide a low wall between chairs, and the tent's open side sat at a safe distance from the fireplace where flames crackled merrily in the hearth. The coffee table stood in the middle of the tent, with various pillows and sheets stretched across the carpet for extra cushion. Five little girls lounged, chatting animatedly, under its eaves.

The prince smiled at his handiwork. He always had been exceptional at creating forts, even if Catherine's sisters insisted he had built a tent rather than a fort. To his mind, it was a fort, and a spanking good one at that.

Georgiana looked over at him and waved, "Come in, Tommy! There's plenty room!"

Thomas narrowed his eyes, "Um, I'm not entirely-."

"Please, Tommy? It'll be fun!" Allison begged.

Eleanor nodded, "Yes, you can be the lion again!"

"But only if you're a nice lion." Emma warned.

Thomas raised an eyebrow and glanced at Jane. She promptly picked up her book and hid her face, pretending to be reading.

"I still don't think-." He was interrupted when Georgiana began tugging on his hand.

"Please? Please?"

He sighed, "Oh, all right." Kneeling, Thomas crawled into place and took a seat in one of the lower corners. Immediately, the low corner was not so low anymore.

"This is nice." Georgiana commented, admiring how the man's height raised the roof of their tent several inches higher.

Thomas, his head bumping against the blanket, shrugged, "It's not a bad fort."

"Tent." Emma corrected absently.

"Tent—yes, it's not a bad tent." He replied, watching as Emma grabbed a deck of cards from the nearby bookshelf and set about dealing them out in pairs of five.

"We're going to play go-fish. Do you know how to play, Tommy?"

He nodded.

"No—don't move your head too much or you'll knock the ceiling on top of us!" Eleanor said, gazing up at him as she hugged a pillow.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." Thomas apologized delicately, accepting the cards from Emma.

"So Tommy-," Allison began conversationally, "-have you always been this good at tent building?"

Thomas grinned, "No, I had to learn. My older cousins taught me."

"We have cousins!" Georgiana announced enthusiastically, dropping half her cards. "They don't live near us, though. They live in-."

"Georgiana, stop dropping your cards—you'll ruin the game!" Emma cut in, frowning at her younger sister.

"Tommy-," Eleanor started, even as Emma and Georgiana began arguing, "-can I touch your mane again?"

The prince opened his mouth, trying to figure out how to best refuse without hurting her feelings. But then Allison saved him the trouble by starting the game.

"Okay, Elly, do you have any threes?"

Her twin pouted, "Yes, but I think you're cheating."

"No I'm not. And anyway, how can you cheat at goldfish?"

"It's _go-fish_." Emma corrected, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, you're so young. Elly, do you have any aces?"

Eleanor shook her head even as Allison groaned, "I am not—you're just old!"

"_I'm_ just in school." Emma retorted, withdrawing a card from the stack.

"Are you really?" Thomas asked, trying to ignore Georgiana's peeking over his arm to see his cards.

Emma nodded proudly, "Yep. Jane and I both go to the school downtown. Don't we, Jane?"

Jane, who had neglected to join the card game, answered with a soft, 'yes' and then continued reading.

"She likes it more than I do, though." Emma commented, poking Georgiana in the knee. "Your turn, Georgiana."

The little girl pursed her lips, as if in deep concentration, and asked, "Got any knaves, Tommy?"

Thomas, smiling, pulled out the two requested cards from his hand and gave them to her.

Georgiana's face brightened, and she said, "Wow! Thanks, I've got a match now!"

There were moans of disappointment from her sisters as she lay out four knaves on the carpet.

"Oh, don't be like that." Thomas scolded, looking around at the other girls. "There's still quite a bit of chance for you to win."

"That's what you say." Emma muttered. "It's your turn."

He raised his eyebrows, "Right. Um, Miss Eleanor, do you have any sixes?"

"No." She smiled, evidently delighted by his choice of address.

"Very well." Thomas reached over and selected a card from the deck. He gave a sideways look to Georgiana, whispering, "What do you think it is?"

Georgiana shrugged, "I don't know. Hope it's a queen though—I've got two already."

A grin crossed the prince's face.

The card game continued on for some time, with sporadic calls of 'you cheated!' erupting into being whenever someone got a match of four. There were also arguments about the names of the queen cards, especially since each girl (excepting Jane, who remained buried in her book) wanted _her_ name to be that of the queen of hearts. Then towards the end of the second game, an enthusiastic pillow fight was used to resolve a dispute concerning the number of matches. All in all, the experience proved quite enjoyable, and Thomas was having so much fun he forgot his plans to leave.

"Tommy, what do you do at the palace?" Emma asked, picking up another card from the deck.

Thomas frowned thoughtfully, "Well, I work, I read reports and sit in meetings and-."

"That's boring." Georgiana declared, sneaking yet another glance at the prince's hand.

He half-shrugged, "It can be boring sometimes."

"Do you have a great big staircase?" Eleanor asked, grinning.

"That you slide down on?" Allison echoed.

Emma narrowed her eyes, "Ally, it's your turn."

"How fast can you go?" Allison ignored her sister and instead stared at Thomas.

Thomas grinned, "I _did_ ride down the banister of the front stairs once when I was young. I wound up losing a tooth when I hit the floor at the end."

"Really?"

"Yep, and it hurt a lot. But the ride down was spectacular. Freddy—you remember him, right?"

Allison laughed, "That man who talked funny?"

Thomas smirked, "Yes, that's Freddy. Well, he was on his way down when my mother, erm, put an end to our amusements."

"What did she do?" Eleanor demanded.

"Well, she made me go to the infirmary, and she made Freddy-."

"A-hem."

Thomas stopped speaking at once, suddenly aware that a new person had entered the room. The slight clearing of a throat had come from behind him, and he gave Georgiana a worried glance.

"It's Katie." Georgiana whispered loudly, her eyes wide.

"Do you think she likes the tent?" Thomas mouthed.

"What?" Allison asked.

"Ally, it's your turn to go." Emma pointed out, frustrated that she was being ignored.

Catherine, standing in the doorway of the sitting room, smiled as the bump she was fairly certain was Thomas's head, moved a little under the tent's roof. She raised her voice: "There's hot chocolate in the kitchen if any of you want it."

Several eager gasps sounded, and Emma, Jane, Allison, Eleanor, and little Georgiana, all emerged from the tent, quickly passing their elder sister to enter the hallway. Catherine called after them, "Emma, make sure they all get a cup and don't spill."

"Yes, Katie!"

Behind her, there was a low grunt as Thomas clambered out from under the tent. He walked stiffly over to her, trying to get feeling back into his legs. Catherine smiled up at him, noting that his hair was rumpled from being pressed against the blanket ceiling.

"Did you say something about hot chocolate?" The prince asked, watching the firelight play across her face.

"I did. Would you like some?"

"Yes, I would."

Catherine began to lead him into the hallway, asking, "Who made the tent?"

"I did—and it's a fort, no matter what your sisters claim." Thomas replied, scratching his head.

"Well, whatever it is, we'll have to clean it up after hot chocolate."

He pouted, "'Clean it up'?"

She glanced at him, "Yes, is there a problem?"

"Well-," Thomas started uncertainly, "-that's—that's one of the best forts I've ever built. You want to get rid of it that fast?"

The girl nodded, "It has to be gone before tomorrow morning."

"But it's not tomorrow morning, is it?" He asked, following her into the kitchen.

Catherine gave him a small smile, "I suppose not."

"Katie, where did you hide the cinnamon?" Emma asked from where she was rummaging through a cupboard.

"I didn't _hide_ the cinnamon anywhere." She said emphatically, looking sternly at Allison who was standing on the counter searching through a cabinet. "Ally, get down from there and drink your hot chocolate."

"But we're looking for the cinnamon." Allison protested as she carefully climbed down onto the chair her twin was holding steady.

Catherine opened another cabinet, retorting, "_I'll_ find the cinnamon. _You_ get down from there."

Thomas, meanwhile, had taken a seat next to Georgiana and Jane at the table. Georgiana was blowing hard at the cup of hot chocolate in her hands, sending droplets everywhere. Jane patiently stirred her drink, reading her book again.

"That must be a very interesting book." Thomas murmured.

Startled, Jane jumped and knocked over her cup of hot chocolate.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Jane said, even as both Thomas and Georgiana rose from their seats to avoid the spill.

Thomas shook his head, feeling apologetic. "No, don't be. It's my fault, um—Cat, towel please."

Catherine quickly came over to the table and began to mop up the hot chocolate.

"Katie, I'm sorry, I didn't-." Jane continued, a worried frown on her face.

Catherine smiled, "It's okay, Jane. Accidents happen."

"I'll—I'll go get another cup." Thomas said, hurrying over to the hearth where a teakettle hung over the fire. He poured out another cup of hot chocolate and came back to the table just as Catherine finished cleaning up the mess.

"Here you go." He said kindly, sliding the cup over to Jane.

She gave him an uncertain smile, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

"Katie, I think I've found the cinnamon." Emma came out from where she had been digging in one of the bottom cabinets, a small container grasped in her hand.

"How on earth did it get in there?" Catherine asked, taking the cinnamon from her.

Emma shrugged, "Don't know. Can we have some now?"

She nodded, "Yes, I'll take care of it. Everyone, bring your cups to the table. Those who want cinnamon, raise your hands."

Very soon, five girls sat at the table drinking, stirring, and enjoying their hot chocolate. Thomas and Catherine leaned against the counter, keeping watch as well as finishing off the remainder of the warm drink.

"It's getting a bit late." Thomas said, taking another sip of his hot chocolate.

"And you need to get back home?"

"Well, I wouldn't say _need_ so much as my mother would probably want me back at a reasonable hour."

"The sky is pretty dark now."

Emma looked up from the table, announcing, "Katie, we're all done with our chocolate. Can we go back to the tent?"

Catherine answered, "All right. But it's getting close to bedtime so don't expect to stay up all night."

"Even with Mama and Daddy gone?" Eleanor asked, scooting out of her chair.

She nodded, "_Especially_ with Mother and Daddy gone."

There were rebellious sighs, but eventually each girl had left for the sitting room once more, and five empty mugs sat on the table. Catherine moved forward and began gathering up the cups, shaking her head.

"Honestly, it's been _such_ a day dealing with them." She said, bringing the dishes over to the sink. "It's not that they are badly behaved so much as it's their tendency to be everywhere, doing everything, all at once. They make it so hard for me to keep track of what's going on."

"It's not so bad when they're all together." The prince replied.

"No, but the problem is, they're _not_ all together all the time. I have no idea how Mother managed it."

"Hmm." Thomas downed the rest of his hot chocolate in one gulp.

Catherine gazed at him for a moment, her eyes thoughtful. Then she smiled, "Tommy, is it possible that you could stay for a little while longer? Just for another fifteen minutes at the most?"

He shrugged, "Sure."

"Great. Now, there's something I would like you to do…"

* * *

"Sometimes at night, when the rest of the world is quiet, a monster walks the streets of the city…" Catherine said solemnly, her voice a mere hush beneath the sitting room tent.

In front of her, the group of little girls moved closer together, the youngest of which peered through her fingers.

"He is a big, hulking sort of creature—emerging out of the deepest, darkest forest of this world."

Jane gulped audibly, and Allison gripped Eleanor's hand all the more tightly.

"He's tall, with massive shoulders, and a great furry head and face…"

Out in the hallway, Thomas frowned. He was not entirely sure he appreciated this description.

"His name-," Catherine whispered dramatically, "-is the Chacobeast!"

"Oh no!" Eleanor wailed, raising her hands. "Not him!"

"Yes him." Her sister responded, a grin appearing on her face. "And do you know what else?"

"W-what?" Jane asked, sounding like she would rather not know.

"His favorite hobby is to find little girls who have been giving their older sister a hard time—and eat them!"

All the girls squeaked and glanced fearfully at each other.

"And he comes, with pounding footsteps."

Thomas began to walk forward, taking care to stamp hard against the carpeted floor.

Allison looked over her shoulder, seeing the darker corners of the tent. "Did you hear that, Katie?"

Catherine sat up, shaking her head, "No, not at all. I didn't hear a thing."

"B-but I—I thought I heard-."

"Shhh! Ally, be quiet! Katie's not done with the story!" Emma shushed, gazing up at her elder sister.

"But-."

"Shhh! Go on, Katie."

"Very well." Catherine leaned forward again, "He comes, with pounding footsteps. And he growls, like a—a-."

"Lion?" Georgiana brightened.

"Yes—like a lion. Especially when he is on the hunt for little girls who annoy their older sister."

Thomas frowned for a second, and then attempted a growl.

Georgiana narrowed her eyes, "Was _that_ a growl?"

Catherine sighed, "He might have a head-cold. Anyway, the Chacobeast comes, growling, pounding—slowly making his way towards the five little girls who have been driving their sister crazy all day long…"

Allison made a quick headcount, whimpered, and squeezed in closer to her sisters.

Thomas, meanwhile, had entered the room, walking heavily and attempting to growl. He was facing the back of the tent, so he really could not see much of what was going on at its front. But now he was poised, and ready.

"And then, when he reaches the little girls-." Catherine paused and checked to make sure the prince was in place.

Eleanor saw her sister's gaze and turned, sighting the large, shadowy form spreading over their tent. She screamed: "AAAAHHHH! THE CHACOBEAST!"

Immediately, the girls split up into different directions, some racing away, and some racing towards, the shadowy form. Thomas felt two, small somebodies slam into him, and he fell to the floor with a loud 'thump' and a whoop of shock. He found himself in a confused tangle of blankets, darkness, and shrill yelps. The tent had obviously fallen apart around them, and he, as well as a few of the girls, had been caught beneath it. He could feel little hands and feet hitting against him, as well as a chair landed on his shoulder. Thomas tried to keep himself from hurting anyone, but then someone had latched onto his leg and was not going to let go.

"Help!" He pleaded, voice muffled under a pillow.

"Help! Help, Katie, the Chacobeast!" Allison cried, extricating herself from beneath a heavy quilt.

Catherine came out beside her, shoving aside pillows and laughing. "What did you say?"

"The Chacobeast!" Allison shouted, "I saw him! He's big, and furry, and-."

"It's not the Chacobeast." Emma muttered crossly, pushing over a footstool. "It's just Tommy."

"No it—Tommy?" Allison stared in wonder as, with a violent wriggle, Thomas managed to sit up from the mess of blankets.

"Is everyone all right?" Catherine asked.

Thomas frowned, gazing at the blankets in front of him. "There's something attached to my leg."

"I've got the Chacobeast!" Georgiana hooted, getting to her knees and tugging the prince's leg victoriously.

"Georgiana." Thomas cleared his throat, causing the girl to look around. "Let go."

Georgiana released him in surprise, her mouth falling open, "You're the Chacobeast?"

He grunted, adjusting slightly, "Only on my days off."

She looked puzzled, "What?"

"Katie." They glanced around, trying to discover the source of the voice. "Katie, I'm stuck."

Catherine spotted Eleanor struggling to shift aside another chair. "Elly? Just wait, I'll-."

Thomas reached over and lifted the chair up, effectively freeing the girl.

She crawled out, her eyes wide, "What happened?"

"I-," Catherine grinned sheepishly, replying, "I convinced Tommy to help me scare you all. Just for the fun of it."

Emma folded her arms and rolled her eyes, "_Katie_."

Catherine shook her head, "Oh, come off it—you wanted a ghost story so I gave you one."

"Wait—where's Jane?" Eleanor asked.

"I'm here." Jane stuck her head out from behind the couch, asking quietly, "Is it over?"

Catherine smiled, "Yes, Jane dear, it's over. And it's bedtime, so let's clean this mess up and then get you all to your rooms."

Thus it was with some complaining, a lot of folding, and a few resentful yawns, the sitting room was straightened up. Lord Brian's chair was back in the parlor, the blankets were back in the linens closet, and five girls were on their way upstairs to bed, Catherine behind them.

Thomas, left with nothing much to do, went to the kitchen with the idea that he would wash the hot chocolate cups. He plunged his hands beneath the soapy water, picking up a mug at random and swabbing out the suds. The prince finished scrubbing the cup and set it aside to be dried, chuckling slightly as he thought of the 'ghost story' Catherine had told. Then he realized he could hear the sound of rain.

He glanced up and out the kitchen window, his heart sinking within his chest as a flash of lightning arced across the dark clouds. Then thunder bellowed, and his heart bypassed his stomach and settled wearily in the sole of his left foot.

About five minutes later, Catherine entered the kitchen. She automatically started drying the waiting cups, admitting, "Okay, I suppose that wasn't one of my best ideas."

"'Suppose'?"

She smiled, "Just because you got a little bruised-."

"I'll have you know, one of those girls boxed me in the stomach." Thomas pointed out, retrieving the last cup.

"And you'll survive."

He inclined his head, asking dryly, "Do you think I can survive a thunderstorm?"

"What do you mean?" Catherine looked up just in time to see the next lighting flash. Her eyes widened. "Oh no."

"It's all right." Thomas replied, drying off his hands. "It won't take me long to get home."

"Tommy, there is no way I'm going to let you out in this weather. For goodness sake, you're far too tall—you'd get struck by lightning."

"Then what would you suggest?"

"Wait it out?" Catherine said pleadingly.

Thomas looked out the window again, frowning. Water continued to pour, mercilessly, from the dark sky. An ominous roar of thunder caused the glass panes to rattle.

She raised her eyebrows, "You can't really want to go out in that mess."

"Well—I suppose not."

"I'll set a bed up for you on the couch." She finished drying the last cup, and left for the hallway.

Thomas hurried behind her, protesting, "I thought you said to wait it out."

"Yes, but you don't know how long that's going to take, do you?" She asked, opening the linens closet and withdrawing sheets and a blanket.

He shook his head, "Cat, be—be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable. _You're_ the one who wants to go charging out into that storm."

He sighed, gazing at her. She stared back, her green eyes determined.

Thomas held out his hand, "At least let me make my own bed."

She smiled and gave him the bundle of cloth, "All right. I'll return in a minute. I want to make sure the girls are in their rooms like I told them to be."

Thomas entered the sitting room and looked down at the couch. It appeared smaller than usual, somehow. He tossed the blanket into an armchair and spread out the sheets onto the sofa. He half-wondered what Catherine _would_ say if he simply picked up and left. She probably would not be very happy with him. She might even have gone after him.

The prince pursed his lips, musing on this prospect even as he continued to build his bed. Catherine returned to the sitting room not long after he had finished, sniffed disapprovingly, and started to remake the miserable bed he had crafted.

Thomas had known she was going to do this, but failed to mention it. Instead he stood at the windows and looked out at the rain. He then cleared his throat, "I have to ask—are you in the habit of frightening your sisters?"

"It was really more of Lizzie's tactic than mine." Catherine responded, tucking the sheets neatly into the cushions. "When we were younger, she often resorted to ghost stories if I annoyed her too much. I can remember one time being so scared I actually stayed awake the entire night."

"And then what happened?"

"I fell asleep in my cereal at breakfast the next morning."

Thomas frowned, "In your cereal?"

"In my _cereal_." The girl repeated, grinning.

He nodded, "Well that is quite unfortunate. Almost as unfortunate as being eaten by a big, furry Chacobeast."

"Did you like my description?"

"I felt you exaggerated a bit too much."

She shook her head, smirking, "Not when I draw from such excellent source material."

"Thanks for that." The prince said sarcastically.

"You're welcome." Catherine answered, her voice light.

A rumble of thunder echoed somewhere above them, and a few seconds later, lightning flashed again.

Thomas sighed and turned away from the window, smiling bleakly, "I don't think this rain intends to stop anytime soon."

"Probably not. But you know, speaking of ghost stories-," Catherine came over to stand beside him and tapped on the glass, "-this storm reminds me of another, much scarier story."

"Really?" He looked intrigued.

"And it's scary because it's actually true."

"I'm listening."

She gave him a half-smile and took a seat on the chair by the window. Then, taking a deep breath, Catherine said quietly, "It was on a night much like tonight—wet, cold… lonely."

"Lonely?" Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow.

Catherine shrugged, "Well I suppose tonight's not _that_ lonely. But it was then. My parents were out of town, Lizzie and I were taking care of the girls, and everything seemed well. Nothing had happened all day, and we had just gotten the girls to bed when I remembered I had left my book downstairs. Lizzie was busy so I just went down to the sitting room by myself." She sighed, adding, "It was very dark in here. I didn't even have a candle to see by, so I had to feel my way over to the side table where my book was. Then I just happened to glance out the window, and I saw a figure standing out by our street."

Thomas stiffened slightly, his shoulders tensing. He had not expected this.

Catherine did not notice, and spoke on, "A rather large figure, definitely a man, just lingering there and—and staring at the house."

"What?"

Her eyes narrowed, "Immediately I felt my heart turn in my chest… I went cold. It was an odd feeling—almost as if my body had realized something that my mind had not. And then I went upstairs to tell Lizzie about it. She thought I was just trying to make her nervous, but when we started going down the steps—when we were actually half-way down the stairs—we heard someone knocking."

The prince instinctively raised his head, gazing at the front door and estimating how best to bar it.

"He—it—whatever it was, knocked only three times. Very slow and measured, but loud so we could hear above the rain." Catherine smiled grimly, "Needless to say, Lizzie and I did not finish our trip downstairs. We didn't even get to sleep that night. And the worst part was that I couldn't remember if I had locked the kitchen door or not. But nothing happened, and Mother and Daddy came back home the next morning with no problems at all."

"Has it happened since then?"

"No. It's been two years and it has never happened again. Of course that doesn't mean I don't think about it. In fact, any night my parents are away I think about it." She absently rubbed her fingers, muttering, "And I don't really stop until they're back home."

"Did you tell them about it?"

"What? No. No, I don't want to worry them."

"Cat, this is—." He stopped talking, his eyes moving from the girl's face and towards the dark hallway.

She watched him, instantly seeing the strains of anxiety in how his jaw muscles were tightening. And then she heard it—a noise. A very soft, quiet sort of noise that normally one would not pay attention to unless one had good reason to listen.

It was coming from the direction of her father's study.

Thomas started to walk into the corridor, carefully moving so that his feet made no sound.

"What are you doing?" Catherine hissed.

"Quiet."

Her eyes widened, "Tommy, no, you cannot-!"

"Do me a favor-," he turned back to her, his face stern, "-hush."

Catherine frowned, trying to figure out if she should be indignant or afraid. At the moment, she was leaning towards the latter. But then the prince had retrieved her father's Sunday cane from the umbrella stand in the hall, and she had to say something.

"Are you serious? You can't do this!"

He continued to look down the hallway, replying, "No—I _can_ do this. You, however, need to stay here."

"I'm not staying-."

"Cat." He looked down at her gravely. "Stay here."

"You don't know what that could be." She pointed out.

Thomas nodded, "Which is why I want you to stay here."

"You could get hurt."

"Well at least it's not you. Now, listen to me carefully—if you hear anything-," he paused, noting that the mysterious noise had gotten louder, "-anything bad, I want you to go upstairs, get your sisters in the most secure room up there, and lock the door. Can you do that for me?"

Catherine glared at him, "You're being stupid."

He agreed, "I know, but it's my responsibility to take care of you so I'm going to. Will you do what I said?"

For a moment she hesitated, wavering under that blue-eyed gaze. Then she sighed, "Yes."

"Good." He held up the cane cheerfully, "Hopefully I won't need this. I'll call when it's safe."

"Be careful." She warned.

"I will."

"And don't make a mess."

Thomas grinned in spite of himself, "All right."

She watched, feeling a blend of apprehension and exasperation, as the prince entered the hallway. He walked past the stairs and out of sight, heading for Lord Brian's office.

* * *

Thomas inched his way along the small stretch of wall separating him from the study. He had virtually no light, and so had to rely on all his senses to reach his destination safely. This, however, was the least of his worries, as he did not know what he would be up against. He did not know what sort of terror awaited him in the milk lord's office. And, truth be told, he was rather concerned.

Thus ends the young life of one of Corona's most promising monarchs. Engaged in combat with some ruffian trying to escape the storm—and hewn down by a single blow despite having endured years' worth of military training. _That_ would be a story to tell coming generations. How a thick-headed dunce of a royal went and got himself killed or embarrassingly injured simply because he jumped into an office and floundered around a bit in the dark.

But—Thomas set his back against the space of wall next to the door, adjusting the cane in his slightly sweaty hand—at least he had chivalry on his side. Yes, _that_ was comforting in the face of possible danger. At least he was polite.

Thomas inhaled slowly, set his hand on the knob, and entered the room.

There was a hole in the windows behind Lord Brian's desk. A small hole in a single pane, but no other signs of vandalism.

The prince moved forward, his eyes scanning his surroundings. There was no one in here… unless—that desk was large enough to hide someone.

Thomas walked over and glanced down. Aside from the broken glass of the window, and a faintly damp spot on the carpet, there was nothing once again. He frowned, certain he had missed something.

The 'something' that he had missed, took the opportunity to neatly clip him on the ear.

Thomas jumped, startled, and quickly looked up in the far corner. There was a lot of squeaking going on, as well as a frantic flapping of wings. And then he saw it—a small, furry creature scrabbling up the wall and bouncing vainly off the ceiling.

Thomas let out a sigh of understanding. Apparently the poor animal had somehow crash-landed through the windowpane, and now was unable to make it back outside.

He cleared his throat, calling, "It's okay, Cat. You can come in here."

A few seconds later, Catherine arrived with a lit candle in one hand and a frying pan in the other. Thomas looked at the cooking instrument in confusion, "What's that for?"

She shrugged defensively, "I just thought, you know—weapon."

The prince grinned, glancing up again at the ceiling, "Well, there's really no need. See, all it is a ba-."

There was a loud gasp, a clang, and then the candle went out, plunging them into darkness. Thomas heard the office door slam, and before he knew it, the girl had grabbed onto his arm and was pressing her face against his shoulder, whispering urgently.

"Get it get it get it get it get it get it."

"Cat?"

"Get it get it get it!"

"What happened to the light?"

"I dropped it. Ooo—I _hate_ bats! Get it get it get it get it…"

He reached over and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, remarking, "Ah. I see."

"Oh, I hear it squealing!" She sounded quite panicky by this point, and Thomas could no longer feel his arm because she was squeezing him so tightly.

Above them, the bat once again struck vainly against the wall, letting out a desperate squeak that all but matched the noises Catherine was making. Thomas, who had never had _any_ experience in the field of capturing bats, racked his brain for an idea. He could remember seeing a cloak thrown over the back of Lord Brian's chair, and a solution sparked in his mind.

"Cat, let go."

She held on, if possible, even tighter, moaning.

Thomas rolled his eyes, "Do you want me to catch the creature or not?"

"I—I-," she groaned, releasing him, "-just don't let it touch me!"

"I won't." Thomas retrieved the cloak and walked past where Catherine was huddling. He peered up at the ceiling, and a convenient flash of lighting revealed that the bat was still flying against the wall.

The prince held up the coat. Just grab it, Thomas told himself, even as the animal continued to scratch at the wallpaper. It will be just like grabbing a very small dog.

He lunged.

It was _not_ like grabbing a very small dog.

"Got it. I've go—whoa!" He clasped the struggling bundle to his chest, fighting to keep hold of the frightened creature.

"What's wrong?" Catherine asked breathlessly. "What's the matter?"

"It's wiggling."

"Ew! Don't say that!"

"Open the door—I need to get it outside."

Catherine obeyed, staring as he walked hurriedly out of the room and down the hall. She followed him, wincing as he tried to maintain his grip.

He grunted, "Okay, open the door—open the front door, Cat!"

She hastily opened the door and Thomas ran out into the storm, tossing the squeaking cloak upward and releasing the scared animal into the air. He stood, squinting up at the rain as the little blot disappeared into the night.

"Tommy! Get back in here!" Catherine shouted, her voice barely audible over the thunder and wind.

He marched back to the porch, blinking away water. Thomas huffed, commenting, "It's quite wet outside."

Catherine smiled up at him, "No kidding. I'll fetch you a towel."

* * *

She watched as the prince stuffed a small cloth into the hole in the office window. They really could do nothing more for it, at the moment. But now the carpet would not be so wet in the morning, and her father could get a man to replace it later.

Thomas knelt down to pick up the pieces of glass, asking, "So—bats?"

Catherine shuddered, holding her arms against herself, "They're evil little monsters."

He smirked, carefully removing another shard from the carpet. "I take it that you've met them before?"

The girl nodded, "Back home—back in the pasturelands—they'd always get caught in our chimney. Daddy would have to get them out but ever since then—I just can't stand them."

"They're not particularly dangerous, you know."

She retorted, "_You_ try being a little girl and having one of those black animals flying at you in your home and see how you like it."

He got to his feet, holding the glass in his hand. "I'm sorry. I suppose I've never had to deal with something like that before."

"You managed quite well." Catherine replied, her tone forgiving.

"I had to. Thankfully it was _only_ a bat, though."

"Thankfully. I can't imagine what would have happened otherwise."

Thomas studied her face, recalling the story she had told him about the unwanted visitor. Clearly, though it had happened two years ago, the thought still bothered her.

"Why did you never tell your parents about that?" He asked quietly.

Surprised by his question, she opened her mouth uncertainly, but he interrupted, "And be honest, Cat. I'm smarter than I look."

Catherine looked down at the rug, muttering, "I guess it was that I didn't want them to worry. I didn't want them to think I couldn't handle things here. Mother and Daddy never get to spend much time alone together and it's nice when they can. And I don't want to ruin that for them by admitting that I—that I'm scared."

"It's not a bad thing to be scared." Thomas said.

She sighed, "I know. But it's not a good thing, either."

He gave her a sympathetic nod.

Catherine shrugged, "It's just—sometimes I wonder—if there's an emergency or something happens—I wonder if I'll be able to take care of it. With Lizzie gone, I'm by myself here and it—I don't really like it."

The prince twisted his wrist slightly, responding, "Well, I'd hate to argue with you, but you're not by yourself here. You've got me. And I promise to help you."

"You take the term 'public servant' rather seriously."

Thomas tilted his chin, "Your father said something like that once."

"We tend to think a lot alike." She replied.

"What would he say now?"

"He'd probably say get out of his office and go to sleep. Because, Katie, you've been up taking care of your sisters all day—it's time for you to get some rest." She looked up at Thomas, and found that he was smiling.

He looked really nice when he smiled.

"Goodnight, Cat."

"Goodnight."

* * *

Half an hour later, Catherine lay in her bed, staring at the flickering light of the candle on her bedside table. Normally, on nights when her parents were away, she would stay up into the early morning. But she did not have to do that tonight. She had Thomas.

With a sigh, she rolled over and gazed up at the ceiling, listening to rain drumming on the roof and the wind howling outside. She thought about the day, about how he had willingly come and entertained her sisters… about how he was still here, keeping watch. Never in her life had she a friend like him. Thomas was—for lack of a better term—different, and she still did not know just what made him so. Maybe it was because he was a man?

Just then, her door opened slightly, and Georgiana poked her head into the room.

"Katie?" She winced from the glow of the candle.

Catherine sat up quickly, "Georgiana? What are you doing up?"

The little girl stepped into the room, trembling in her hand-me-down nightgown.

Catherine scooted over in her bed, patting the mattress, "Come over here, dear."

Georgiana ran over and jumped onto the bed, snuggling up to her sister and mumbling about the storm. Catherine gently brushed her hair, whispering, "It's all right, Georgiana."

Her sister glanced up at her, green eyes wide.

Catherine smiled, "You're safe. I'm here and Tommy's also here."

The green eyes narrowed in confusion, "Hmm?"

"He couldn't go home because of the storm, so he's staying the night. He'll take care of us."

"I like him. He's a great lion." Georgiana declared, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

Her sister smiled, "He makes a terrific lion."

Georgiana answered with a faint sound, and then steadily her breathing slowed and she fell asleep. Catherine kissed her sister quietly on the head, and mused on what the 'lion' was doing now.

* * *

Catherine was cold. This was surprising, because normally, she woke up quite warm and often had to struggle to convince herself to get up out of bed. But right now, she was freezing…

She opened her eyes to discover that she was attempting to huddle under a corner of blanket. The rest of the blanket was wrapped around a tiny girl who, it must be acknowledged, had also taken up most of the bed. Catherine sat up, raising her eyebrow as she gazed at her youngest sister. Georgiana was nestled rather comfortably in a literal cocoon of sheets and quilt, a happy smile of contentment on her face as she slumbered on.

Sighing, Catherine gave her sister the remainder of the blanket and rose to her feet, murmuring, "Sweet dreams, Georgiana. I feel sorry for whoever you marry because the poor man will be freezing every morning—and he won't have the heart to tell you."

She walked to the door, intent on heading downstairs to start breakfast. Then she remembered that there was a man sleeping on her couch. Catherine looked down at her nightgown and shook her head, "I don't think so."

A few minutes later, Catherine walked down to the sitting room. She had made it halfway down the steps when she realized that low thrum was not coming from outside. Upon reaching the couch, she discovered that the prince snored. Loudly. And that he apparently found the floor far more comfortable than the couch.

Catherine watched as the man slumbered on, his snores rumbling up from his chest and through that Roman nose of his. Early morning sunlight shined in through the windows, brightening the room and gilding dust motes as they drifted in the air. The storm had clearly blown itself out sometime during the night, and the world was calm.

She smiled and walked off towards the kitchen, her bare feet padding softly against the floor.

Thomas woke up several minutes later, slightly puzzled as to why he was lying on the carpet of Lord Brian's sitting room. Then he inhaled the glorious scent of coffee.

"Mmm—smells like Heaven." He winced, squirming painfully. "Doesn't feel like Heaven, though."

"Good morning."

Thomas glanced up to see Catherine entering the room, a mug of steaming coffee in her hand.

"Then again…" He muttered, easing himself onto the couch.

Catherine sat down next to him, "I suppose the floor seemed more cozy?"

Thomas admitted, "I couldn't fit on the couch." He eyed the coffee in her hand, "Is that for me?"

She handed him the cup, "Yes. I don't know how you like it so I just prepared it the way my father drinks his coffee."

The prince took a sip, murmuring happily.

"Do you like it?"

"This is-," he looked at her, grinning, "-fantastic."

"Good to know." Catherine replied.

Thomas took another swallow, "When are your parents getting back?"

She frowned thoughtfully, "In another hour, probably. They said they'd leave home early to get back here before lunch."

"Then I should get ready to go." He drank the rest of his coffee, much to Catherine's amazement, and began to pull on his boots.

"How did you not burn your throat?" She asked, staring at the empty cup.

"Practice." Thomas grunted, fastening the clasps to his boots.

"Okay then." She took the cup and went back to the kitchen to put it in the sink. When she came back, she found the man standing uncertainly by the front door.

His clothes were rather wrinkled, and his hair significantly mussed due to sleep. She could not help but feel that he looked like a young boy rather than the prince of the country.

Catherine unlocked the door. "I hope your mother won't mind that you didn't make it to the palace last night."

He shook his head, "No—she knows I can take care of myself."

"Do you have any work to do this morning?"

"Some reports—I think there may be an appointment but I can always reschedule if I have to."

"Good." She turned to look up at him. "Um, I just wanted to tell you that I—I appreciate your help yesterday. And for-," she shrugged, "-you know, staying the night."

Thomas nodded to her, "Thank _you_ for your hospitality."

Catherine waved her hand, "Oh no—it was my fault you had to stay over in the first place. If I hadn't asked you to help with the girls, goodness knows you would have made it home before the storm hit."

"I didn't mind in the least." He said.

She smiled, "That's nice of you to say. But just—just thank you for staying, Tommy."

"You are quite welcome."

"No I-," she stepped slightly closer, "-I really mean it."

He stared at her.

"Thank you." Then, before she allowed her better judgment to speak, Catherine bridged the distance between them and hugged the man.

For several seconds, Thomas just stood in numb shock.

Catherine grinned, murmuring, "You know, it's not much of a hug if you don't hug back."

Hesitatingly, Thomas brought his own arms up around her. She seemed incredibly small, somehow, though he knew she was just a few inches shy of normal height and size for a woman. Her soft hair smelled good and her breathing was quite relaxed. It was reassuring to sense her calm, because he knew he was far from calm himself. One did not go about hugging young ladies—even if one did care about the young lady in question.

Yet it was a firm, secure embrace. Several important, unsaid things were exchanged through the action. Her gratitude for what he had done—his concern for her safety. That was there, as well as a few other emotions neither was quite able to admit or even consider as of yet.

But now they could hear footsteps upstairs as Catherine's sisters woke up, and it was probably time for the prince to leave.

"You can let go now." Catherine said quietly.

"Oh—right." He hastily did as suggested, apologizing, "Sorry. I—uh—yeah. Sorry about—yeah."

They stood there, both feeling slightly awkward, but somehow pleased.

Then Thomas turned to the door, asking in an off-hand sort of voice: "So, I'll—I'll be seeing you later some time?"

"Probably."

"Um—all right." He turned the knob and stepped outside, bowing somewhat. "Have a good day, Cat."

"Goodbye."

She watched him walk down the path to the street, noting that he moved stiffly from having slept on the sitting room floor all night. Catherine smiled slightly, and closed the door on the new day.


	15. Lord Macintosh's Party

**Author Note:** Guys, I feel awful for making you wait this long. Seriously, this was supposed to go up WEEKS ago... I don't know why it took me so long to write, and I apologize. Anyhoo, this is a Cat-centric chapter, and more of a friendship-centered story rather than much romance. There is some, I suppose, but I PROMISE that the next 3 chapts will predominantly feature Tom and Cat and their relationship. Honest, they will! And then maybe we can start getting somewhere... I never really thought this story would take this long, so thank you guys so much for hanging on! I appreciate each and every review, faving, following, and overall viewing you guys do! Thank you so much! The next post to expect will probably be the first chapt of Tom's Story! Can't wait! :D

P.S. This is a writerly question, but do you guys find that my writing has rereadability? As in-can you read it more than once and still receive some satisfaction? Thanks for your input!

_Soli Deo Gloria _(for those of you who have expressed interest, this means 'Glory to God Alone'. It was used by Bach at the end of each of his compositions, and I've borrowed it)

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Catherine looked out of the window of Isobel's carriage, watching the twilight sky go past even as her friend talked excitedly across from her.

"And then, after dancing with him at that masquerade ball, Patricia ran into him at another party! I mean, can you imagine? She literally _ran_ into him—the prince of Salisbury—nearly knocking him onto his royal hindquarters."

Catherine raised an amused eyebrow, "Did she really?"

Isobel nodded, "Yes, but Dalen managed to grab a nearby guard to maintain balance, sending the rest of the soldiers toppling. Then he suddenly realized who had run into him. It was love at first sight, I'm telling you. The soldiers were dropping like dominoes, but the prince of Salisbury and Patricia the frustrating romantic only had eyes for each other."

"What happened next?"

Isobel waved her hand airily, "Oh, you know, they went dancing again, he introduced her to his mother, and they'll probably get married sometime next year."

"Tommy will be glad to hear that. Now Patricia won't be chasing him down at parties with the delusion that he's about to drop to one knee." Catherine remarked.

"Is the prince still looking for a wife?" Isobel asked, feigning puzzlement. "I thought his mother was handling that."

"She gave the job to him instead. And he's _supposed_ to be looking for a wife, though I doubt he actually is."

Catherine's friend smirked meaningfully at her, "I wouldn't bet on it."

She sighed, "Isobel, how many times must I tell you, we are just-?"

"Friends—I've heard. But really, Katie, you can't spend so much time with a man and not expect people to start forming ideas."

Catherine shook her head, "They can form whatever ideas they want. Tommy and I are friends, and that's it. Nothing else."

"Do you think Lady Macintosh will have invited all those soldier boys we met down at the wharf?" Isobel asked, changing the subject.

"Most likely, considering they're Roderick Macintosh's best friends."

"Good. Three of them were handsome and I need _someone_ to admire this new dress I bought today." Isobel lovingly adjusted the new flows of fabric about her waist.

Catherine smiled, "I told you it would look nice."

"Yes, you did, and thank you so much, Katie, for coming with me. I hate shopping by myself—it takes all the fun out of it and just leaves the work."

"And now you've got a nice set of dresses to show for it."

"Exactly. Ooo—I think we've stopped."

"We have." Catherine checked the window, seeing the large manor home outside. The carriage had halted behind a line of three other coaches. The occupants of said coaches were waiting patiently to be led up the front steps and to the party beyond. Music and laughter could be heard from inside, and the windows showed rooms lit brightly to amend for the departing sun.

Catherine frowned, "You know, I don't remember the Macintoshes having such a large house."

Isobel, who was now re-powdering her nose with the use of a hand mirror, remarked, "Lord Macintosh is getting promoted. His military upgrade comes with an increase in income, so they moved manors."

"How do you know that?"

"Eira told me." Isobel snapped her powder kit shut.

Catherine tilted her chin, watching a couple follow a servant to the doors, "So _are_ Eira and Roderick officially together, then?"

Isobel shrugged, pulling out a lip brush from her purse. "They're off-and-on, but right now I think they're off. She wasn't sure she'd come to his party tonight."

"I just hope it's a good party."

There was a faint smacking noise behind her, and Catherine turned to find her friend reapplying her lip colors. Isobel then gave her a firm look, "Katie, you'll have fun without your sister. You know you will."

She nodded, murmuring, "I know."

"And you _always_ have me." Isobel grinned widely. "We can drown ourselves in punch, decrying the unworthiness of men."

"Not all men." Catherine corrected.

Isobel paused for a minute, thinking. Then she relented, "All right, we'll leave our fathers and the prince off the list. But everyone else who is male gets to be decried."

Catherine laughed, "All right, then."

The door of their coach was opened, and a fairly good-looking servant offered his arm, "May I escort one of you to the door, ladies?"

Isobel all but jumped out of the carriage, "Of course you can." She accepted the man's arm, leaving Catherine to try to maintain a straight face and take the arm of an older servant.

* * *

The manor house was extravagantly decorated. Every corner and corridor had received the express attentions of the Lady Macintosh. Not a piece of her new domain lacked in garnish, and even the very buttons on the waiters' waistcoats gleamed their brass brilliance in the candlelight. There was a large, circular ballroom for dancing, the kitchens and servant quarters were downstairs out of the way, and the back garden had a tasteful mermaid fountain. As a finishing touch, there was a lovely view of the palace out the ballroom windows.

Isobel and Catherine, after bidding their escorts adieu at the foyer, walked, arm-in-arm, to where the large ballroom was located. There were clouds of guests everywhere, sampling the very expensive food while trying not to get it on their very expensive clothes while talking about very expensive things. The soldier boys Isobel had mentioned were present, their uniforms easily spotted amid the rest of the jackets and doublets.

Catherine scanned the crowd, looking over the heads of the dancers for some sign of—ah, there he was.

"Tommy's over this way if you don't mind-," Catherine stopped, surprised to find that her friend was not moving. "Isobel?"

"Um, Katie?" Isobel looked away from the prince, stating suddenly, "I need to visit the loo. Will you come with me?"

"But he-."

"Thank you, dear, you are so kind." Before Catherine could say anything more, she found herself being dragged down the hallway and into a gaudy bathroom.

Isobel shoved her friend inside, closed the door, locked it, and then set about gazing severely at her own reflection in the floor-length mirror.

Catherine opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say turned into a gasp as Isobel deliberately and without compassion, ripped off part of the dress she was wearing.

The girl turned, still examining her mirrored self, and muttered incomprehensively. Then she tore off another strip of fabric, tossing it aside.

"Isobel, what on earth-?" Catherine heard the sound of more cloth ripping, and stared, amazed as Isobel continued her alterations.

"This dress doesn't suit the occasion, Katie." Isobel said, removing another bit of lace from the front. "I'm just making some minor changes."

"Minor—Isobel!" Catherine was shocked. This was a new dress, not cheap and—what was she doing to the front?

"It's not low enough." Isobel determined, gingerly tugging at the opening of her bodice. "Just a little—ah, much better."

Catherine's eyes widened, "Isobel you—you look like a-!"

"A what, Katie?"

Catherine struggled for a moment, gave up and instead settled with, "For goodness sake you're at Lord Macintosh's promotion party, not some dirty street corner in Salisbury!"

Isobel tilted her head, "Is that what you think? Good—means I've got close to what I want."

Her friend closed her eyes, spluttering, "No—no—what are you thinking? Isobel, have you gone mad?"

Isobel patted her hair, replying, "There's a man out there—he was talking to the prince. Do you know him?"

"I—I don't recall seeing anyone."

"He was young—close to the prince's age. Possibly a friend of his Highness's. At any rate, I like him, whoever he is. I don't intend to let him to slip away."

"No, clearly you're just going to reel him in instead. Like some sort of flashy lure." Catherine said, her voice bitingly sarcastic.

"Whatever works." Isobel finished touching up and gave herself a smile of satisfaction. "That's better. Now, I'm going to need you to—who's knocking?"

"You locked the door to the bathroom-," Catherine rolled her eyes even as the rapping grew louder, "-who do you think is knocking?"

"Oh dodger, I forgot where I was." Isobel hastily shoved the remnants of her gown into the wastebasket and then unlocked the door.

A young lady entered the room, clearly irritated. "Honestly, were you two going to stay in here forever? People have got to _go_!"

"Sorry, dear." Isobel replied smoothly, ushering Catherine out of the bathroom and into the hall.

Catherine crossed her arms, demanding, "Isobel, just what are you intending to do?"

Isobel tossed her head, "Like you already said—a little fishing. Listen, could you do me a big favor, Katie? I want you to go talk to the prince. Just get him into conversation but make sure his friend stays with him. Then I'll walk past, and I want you to watch."

"Watch what?"

"You'll know what in a minute. Now, can you do this for me?"

Catherine hesitated, uncertain whether or not to go along with whatever scheme her friend was concocting. But then she saw Isobel's face, and relented, "All right. But behave yourself."

She smirked, "I _am_ behaving myself, dear. But I'm also doing what you won't do."

"And what is that?"

"Going after what I want. Quick—there's a lull in the music—scoot." And with a light push, Isobel sent Catherine off to talk to the prince.

* * *

Thomas frowned doubtfully, "Yes, I don't know what the baron was thinking when he decided to enact that embargo on his city. It's hurting the economy and, what's more, neither my father nor I have cleared the measure."

"Shame, utter shame." Prince Geoffrey of Orae remarked. "You would think that—oh, excuse me, my dear." He dropped a deep bow to a passing lady. "And may I just say you are looking ravishing tonight?"

The lady gave him a hesitant smile and walked on. Geoffrey sighed despondently, gazing after her.

Thomas cleared his throat, seeking to return to the conversation at hand, and said, "And so my father's left me with the whole mess to deal with. Says I need the practice."

The man nodded distractedly, "Hmm—practice. What are we talking about again?"

Thomas groaned, "For goodness sake, Geoff. Just because some pretty face trots by does not mean you need to lose your head."

Geoffrey had the dignity to look ashamed of himself. He shrugged, muttering, "Well, Tom, just because _you've_ set yourself out for the life of a bachelor doesn't mean we all have."

"I know that."

"And besides, even if you don't want to be married, you can understand being attracted to a girl, can't you?"

Thomas sighed, admitting, "Yes."

"So forgive me if I happen to see and follow a pretty face. Now-," Geoffrey cleared his throat, "-what were we talking about again?"

"The baron of Sarphona's embargo." Thomas answered dryly.

The prince of Orae pouted, "Yes, that will be quite annoying to work out. And it affects Orae's shipment of goat cheese, doesn't it?"

"Sarphona _does_ like her cheese." Thomas observed.

"But she will have to do without." Geoffrey turned his head, smiling at yet another lady. "Hal-lo there. Brilliant party, isn't it?"

"Geoff, that's Lady Macintosh."

Geoffrey coughed awkwardly, "Oh. Looks good for a woman her age."

"Just—try to ignore the ladies for a second, please? I have some very important matters I need to-." He broke off at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Hello."

Thomas felt a broad grin spread across his face, and he bowed, "Hello, Cat. You look lovely."

She smiled, "Thank you."

The prince indicated the man beside him, "Cat, this is Geoffrey, the prince of Orae. Geoff, this is a very good friend of mine, Catherine. She's the daughter of one of my milk lords."

"Hello, your Highness." Catherine curtsied.

"Good evening." Geoffrey took her hand and planted a ceremonious kiss upon her knuckles. "It is a pleasure, absolute pleasure to be making the acquaintance of Tom's-," he glanced at Thomas uncertainly, "-friend."

She gently pulled her hand away, "Um, thank you, your Highness."

The prince of Orae smiled, straightening. "As Tom already said, you are looking absolutely beau—beau-." He faltered, staring somewhere above Catherine's head.

Thomas frowned protectively, "There's no need to choke it out, Geoff."

"Beautiful." Geoffrey whispered.

"What are you-?" Thomas followed his friend's line of sight, and let out a soft 'oh' of bewilderment.

Catherine watched the faces of the two men as Isobel strolled past. Geoffrey went pale, and a nervous tic started in one of the lower muscles of his jaw. Thomas's eyes grew wide while his mouth fell slightly open.

Somewhere or another the girl had found a fan and was using it to great effect, every flutter helping to enhance her—for lack of a better term—_assets_. Both gentlemen followed Isobel as she swayed mesmerizingly over to the punch table. Catherine rolled her eyes and tapped the back of her hand against Thomas's arm.

He looked down at her with the air of a man resurfacing after spending some time under water. "Wha-?"

She gave him a stern look, and Thomas hastily swallowed and pretended to be interested in his boots, his ears rapidly turning red. Geoffrey, on the other hand, was still staring in stunned confusion at Isobel. The girl had started chatting with the nervous waiter manning the bowl, apparently asking him to fetch her a drink.

"Who—who is that girl?" Geoffrey managed finally, his jaw trembling.

Thomas shrugged casually, "Um, what girl, Geoff?"

The man gave him an incredulous look, "That breathtaking creature that just floated by—what do you mean, 'what girl'?"

Thomas opened his mouth helplessly and uttered a few incomprehensible noises before Catherine said, "Her name is Isobel. She's a—er—a _dear_ friend of mine and her father is one of Tommy's accountants."

Geoffrey nodded, "Is she really? And Isobel, you called her? What a wonderful, beautiful name." he frowned and shot his friend a puzzled look, "'Tommy'?"

"Long story." Thomas muttered.

He blinked, "Oh. Um, Miss Catherine." The prince of Orae smiled uneasily, even as he shot a furtive glance over to the punch table. "Is—is your friend 'attached' at the moment?"

Catherine shook her head, "No, your Highness, she is not."

"Ah. Brilliant. I'll just—Tom, I've got to go get some—some punch. See you later." Without another word, Geoffrey strode over to the punch table. He had to elbow his way through a growing crowd of young men, but his height gave him the advantage.

Thomas turned to Catherine, demanding, "What just happened?"

She raised her eyebrows, replying, "I have an idea. But _only_ an idea."

"Well that's more than I have. Cat, she's that girl I met at the wharf, right? And she was at your house that one time and-?"

"You've met her before, yes."

"I don't remember her looking like that."

Catherine gave him an amused smile.

His ears grew rosy again, and he stammered, "Not that—that I noticed what she looked like or anything. Obviously I wasn't—I didn't notice."

She inclined her head knowingly, "No, you noticed. And every other man in the room noticed—which is exactly what she wanted."

"You mean she planned _that_?" Thomas asked, eyes narrowing.

His friend nodded, "Tommy, I'm going to give you a bit of advice for the future so listen closely. Any time a girl comes out dressed like my dear friend Isobel, you can be hundred percent sure that she plans to attract attention."

He glanced back at the punch table, asking, "But—but why? Why now? Why tonight?"

Catherine raised her shoulders, "She fancies your friend."

"Geoffrey?"

"The prince of Orae, yes. She'll probably be trailing him along all night."

"But he—he and I were going to wage war on the baron of Sarphona and that ridiculous embargo he's put on his city!" Thomas protested, even as Geoffrey extended his arm to Isobel for a dance.

Catherine grinned, "'Wage war'? What, were you going to throw cream puffs at him?"

Despite himself, Thomas laughed, "No, that was only if negotiations didn't quite go as planned. But, Cat, I do need him. He'll provide more leverage in the argument."

"Can't you handle the baron of Sarphona yourself?"

He stroked his beard, muttering, "Maybe. But only if I—wait, did you say Isobel is going to be '_trailing_ him along'?"

"Yes, I did."

His face fell, "That's not good."

Catherine immediately caught the worry in his voice. She frowned, "Tommy? What's wrong?"

"Well I—I suppose it's not bad it's just-." He broke off, thinking how best to continue. Finally he asked, "She is nice, right?"

"Who, Isobel?"

"Yes, Isobel. Is she a nice girl?"

Unsure how to respond, Catherine asked a question of her own: "Why are you asking?"

Thomas let out an anxious sigh, answering quietly, "Well, see, Geoff is an idiot when it comes to ladies. And he actually _wants_ to get married. He's been looking for a wife for at least a year, and he's gotten so desperate that he falls in love with every girl he meets. And now that your friend is expressing interest…"

"You're afraid it's going to happen again."

The prince bowed his head, "Yes, but only worse. Listen, Cat, I cannot have Geoff moaning about some 'lost love' when I need him for work. He's here on official Orae business, nothing more. Please make sure your friend doesn't-," he rubbed his eyes tensely, "-doesn't break his heart or something and render him useless for the rest of the time that he's here."

She looked at him in concern, "It's not just work you're worried about, is it? Tommy, I can tell. What else is bothering you?"

His answer was reluctant. "Um, well, Geoff _is_ one of my best friends, Cat. I don't really want to see him hurt. And I'm not blaming you—don't misunderstand me. I just—I want to make sure that there isn't too much 'trailing along' taking place. If Isobel is actually interested in him then that's all right but—can you please ask her about it?"

Catherine nodded, "Of course I can. I didn't even realize—Tommy, I'm so sorry."

"No, no, it's not your fault." He raised his head, looking off to his left, "Ah, there's the baron now. I _do_ need to talk to him before I forget, so I'm afraid I'll have to dance with you later. Is that okay?"

She smiled, "Yes, that's okay."

Thomas beamed at her, "Great, I'll see you soon. Oh, and thank you for understanding about the whole 'Geoffrey thing'. I appreciate it immensely."

"I'll talk to her. I promise."

"Thank you."

The prince swept off, intercepting the baron of Sarphona just after he finished congratulating Lord Macintosh on his recent promotion. Catherine watched the two men and thought over what Thomas had asked her.

"Oh Isobel… why did it have to be _him_?" She said, glancing over to the dance floor where the prince of Orae and her friend were twirling happily.

* * *

Catherine spent most of the next four dances glaring at Isobel and her royal dance partner. To be perfectly honest, she really was not watching them so much as she was reminding herself everything she knew about Isobel's interactions with men. Isobel had always liked boys—even during their adolescent years when they attended Madam Olivia's School together. Her friend had never been shy when it came to the opposite sex. Certainly, Isobel had a bit more propriety than Eira Lynn, but only just.

The real problem, however, did not stem from the girl's interest in men so much as how she tended to treat them. Isobel flattered and enjoyed handsome company, but she was teasing. She never approached a relationship for the long term, convinced, as she was, that there was no man in the world who could persuade her out of a life of singleness. While unlike Thomas in that Isobel did not abhor the idea of marriage, she simply did not believe it was for her.

Normally Catherine was not bothered with Isobel's weaving about the emotions of men. Most if not all of the fellows got over their heartbreak before the next sun had risen. But this was one of Thomas's best friends. This was Geoffrey, the prince of Orae, who apparently fell in love and stayed in love and could not cope with having his feelings twisted. She had to do something about it. Thomas had asked her, and that was enough.

She turned away from the ballroom floor, determining how to broach the problem. Before she had gotten much further than designing a gentle fussing, however, Thomas showed up.

He sat down in the chair next to her, letting out a very satisfied hum as he placed two glasses of punch upon the table.

"You're happy." She remarked, watching as the prince twisted his olive-bedecked toothpick around his drink.

"I'm ecstatic." Thomas grinned. "The baron cracked like an egg, Cat. A fragile egg with a paper shell."

"So the embargo is gone?"

"The legislation never made it through Sarphona's councilmen. The old guard knows better than to allow such a thing, and told Baron Elton to stuff it."

Catherine frowned, "The baron told you this?"

He shook his head, "Not exactly. He'd never admit such a mistake. But I could sense things had not gone his way when I asked about it."

"Good. That means you have one less problem to worry about." She said, taking a sip of her punch.

"Yes indeed. And, what's more, there's another dance coming up soon and I don't have anything to-."

"Excuse me, your Highness."

Thomas turned to find a servant at his elbow.

"Duke Lawrence wanted a word with you. He says it's important."

"What is it about?" The prince asked, not moving from his chair.

The servant shrugged apologetically, "I'm not sure, sir, but he said something about a river diversion."

He sucked in his breath, "A diversion through Lord Marten's land?"

"Yes, that was it."

Thomas made a face, "Balderdash—I have to deal with this." He looked over to his friend, "Cat, I'm so sorry. I promise—after this one thing, the rest of the night-."

Catherine shook her head, "The duke is waiting."

"I'll dance with you the minute I get back." He vowed, standing up.

She smiled, "Go and get back sooner, then."

"Right." Thomas followed after the servant, leaving Catherine alone at the table once more.

Though not for long.

Barely ten seconds had passed before Isobel slipped into the seat the prince had vacated. She was fanning herself again, though for practical rather than cosmetic reasons, given that her face was flushed from heat. Her eyes sparkled with the fire of dancing, and she gave Catherine a smirk of such smugness it seemed sinful.

"Hello, Katie dear." Isobel said breathlessly, picking up Thomas's abandoned punch and downing half the glass. "Whew—that last jig was a fast one. Those lads with the mandolins can really play a tune."

Catherine watched as the rest of Thomas's punch disappeared, "Isobel, that's not-."

"Can't tell you how-," she gasped, waving the olive toothpick around, "-absolutely brilliant a dancer Geoff is. He's wonderful, Katie. Very good—_very_ daring." Isobel grinned naughtily and plucked off an olive, popping it into her mouth.

Catherine sighed, feeling the last of her patience deteriorating. "Isobel, can you please stop talking for a minute? I have something to-."

"Though he's not nearly as daring as that cad, Rod Macintosh. Did you see how he was with Eira? As if they could dance any closer! He had his hand on her-."

"Isobel, really-?"

"-and you know he's not supposed to put it _there_." Isobel purred, laughing.

"Never mind where Roderick Macintosh is putting his hand. I want to know what you're doing with the prince of Orae."

She sighed regretfully, "Well, right now I'm waiting for him to get done mumbling to some baron or another. Apparently there's something wrong with the cheese-."

"Tommy's already dealt with that." Catherine interrupted.

"Has he? Good. Means we can get back to dancing sooner." Isobel smiled, adding, "You know, Katie, normally I don't like royal types but Geoff is quite a man. Not just in looks, either—he's actually rather smart. He can name thirty different kinds of goats without blinking. And don't get me started on how-."

"Isobel, what are you doing?" Catherine demanded, cutting in again before her friend could go off on an explanation of the man's qualities.

Isobel started, "What?"

"What are you doing?" Catherine repeated seriously. "Geoffrey is a good man and he doesn't deserve this type of treatment."

"I was just telling you how wonderful he is-."

"No, you were merely recounting what kind of admirer you've won for tonight."

Isobel stared at her, shocked to hear the censure in her voice. She took a deep breath, beginning slowly, "Katie, whatever do you mean?"

Catherine nodded to her, "You. You're always like this with men. You see one that catches your fancy and then you spend the rest of the evening flirting and flaunting until the poor man falls in love with you. And then, at the end of the night, you pat him on the cheek and tell him that you just want to be friends." She shook her head, "Don't think I haven't seen you do this a dozen times before because you have."

Isobel bit her lip, knowing that she was quite right. However, she straightened defiantly and replied, "You've never bothered about it before."

"Most of those men weren't really in love with you. They understood the rules of your game and played them well. Geoffrey, on the other hand, is apparently rubbish with ladies and can't help himself."

"Oh, Katie, you worry too much. Geoffrey's a big boy. He can handle a bit of flattery. He's not going to—to 'fall in love' with me." Isobel smiled, twirling the toothpick between her fingers. "He's smarter than that."

"And what if he's not smarter than that?"

"He is." Her friend responded firmly.

Catherine snorted doubtfully, "How do you know?"

"Because I've spent time with him." Isobel retorted. "And he's brilliant, and kind, and he's a real gentleman, and he treats me like a lady, and I—I _like_ him, Katie. I actually like him."

"You actually—you _like_ him?" Catherine asked, surprised.

"I do. I mean, at first I thought—he was just a man but-," her eyes suddenly widened, and Isobel whispered, "Oh dear. Oh dear!"

"What's wrong?"

"Well—I just realized—I do like Geoffrey. And… I've lost an olive."

Catherine waved her hand, "Well, it's just on the floor, don't worry about it."

She grinned nervously, "It—it never made it to the floor, Katie. A couple of somethings caught it on the way down."

"What do you-?" Catherine glanced at her friend's bodice and rolled her eyes. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"This is a bizarre feeling." Isobel giggled slightly, muttering, "Rude little thing, isn't it? And it's slimy-."

Catherine shook her head, "Isobel just—just go deal with that. Please."

"No, we were talking about Geoff and-," she let out a faint yelp, "-it's slipping lower."

"Go, Isobel."

Isobel rose to her feet, looking at her friend. "I meant what I said, Katie. Geoff is amazing. And I-," she frowned sadly, "-I thought you'd be happy for me."

She swept off in the direction of the washroom, trotting through the crowd.

Catherine turned back to the dancers, thinking about what her friend had just said. Isobel's words made her uncomfortable, and she experienced a stab of guilt. Perhaps she had been too harsh? After all, towards the end it had seemed that Isobel had been saying that she truly liked the prince of Orae. As more than a one-time party date.

The music was reeling crazily now. Out on the floor, Lord Macintosh's guests seemed to be spinning ridiculously fast—turning circles in a maddening dance.

"Pardon me, Miss Catherine."

The girl glanced up to find, much to her chagrin, Geoffrey standing apprehensively beside the table. He smiled, setting his hands on the back of an empty chair.

"Yes, your Highness?"

"You haven't seen Is—Miss Isobel around here, have you? I wanted to introduce her to a few of my friends but she seems to have gone missing."

"She—she went to the ladies' room. Just a second ago."

"Ah." The prince of Orae cleared his throat uneasily. "Um, capital. I'll just—I'll go wait for her."

He began to walk away.

Remembering what Thomas and Isobel had both said about Geoffrey, Catherine abruptly blurted, "Your Highness."

He turned, "Yes?"

"Isobel." She smiled, "She—she likes you."

Geoffrey stared, a disbelieving grin appearing on his face, "Really?"

She nodded, "Yes."

This small piece of information caused his countenance to light up tremendously. He laughed, dropped a half-bow to Catherine, and continued his path to the hallway, a visible spring in his step.

Thomas, who had only heard the tail end of this conversation, declared, "I think you may have made Geoff's night with that news." He leaned down, adding quietly, "But was it true?"

Catherine looked up at him, "How long were you standing there?"

He shrugged and took a seat, resting his elbows on the table. Thomas then cocked his head, "Cat, is it true?"

She sighed, staring at her lap, "Yes. It is."

"You're not acting like it is."

"Well, it depends on whether or not Isobel takes my scolding to heart." Catherine replied guiltily.

Thomas's eyes narrowed, "Scolding?"

She groaned, placing her face in her hands, "It was awful—I was very unkind and I misjudged her terribly."

"You could never do that." He said comfortingly, smiling at her.

"No I—I did. And I feel so—I feel bad. I'm not usually that mean. I just attacked her, asking one thing after another, never giving her a chance to explain. And I hurt her feelings, Tommy. I just got so annoyed and I—I'm a despicable person."

Thomas examined his empty punch glass, frowning, "Oh you are not. You're one of the nicest people I know."

"You weren't there." She reminded him.

He assented, "No I wasn't. But it's all right, Cat. Even if you did say some things you shouldn't have, it doesn't mean you can't apologize and make it better. Really, the very fact that you care so much and are willing to take responsibility for your faults is admirable. Not many people have that same amount of compassion."

Catherine looked up at him, surprised by his words. "Are you being serious?"

Thomas glanced at her uncertainly, "Yes. Do I not sound serious?"

"No it's just-," she shook her head, "-that was very kind of you to say. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"And you're right. I _do_ need to apologize."

Thomas nodded, "Yes, you do. My punch is gone and so are my olives. Where's your apology?"

Catherine felt a slow smile cross her lips. "I didn't drink your punch."

"And you didn't eat my olives either, I suppose?" He asked, smirking.

Catherine laughed teasingly, "Oh, you don't want to know what happened to your olives."

He gazed at her for a long moment, appreciating just how pretty she looked tonight. Her long, brown hair shined under the lights of the chandeliers, and her green eyes were vibrant with life. She truly was a gorgeous girl.

Thomas asked, "Would you like to dance?"

She raised her eyebrows, still smiling, "I would love to."

"And get me some punch?"

"Isn't the gentleman supposed to get the drinks?" Catherine asked, standing.

He tilted his glass, "Apparently you were very thirsty."

"I'll dance with you and _then_ I will get you a glass of punch."

"Two glasses." He replied, rising up to stand beside her. "Just because I'm ridiculous."

"All right. Two glasses and a whole jar of olives."

He nodded, "Yes, that should cover it."

Catherine sighed in mock-exasperation and slid her arm into his, steering him toward the floor. "Come on, or we'll be late for the next dance."

"After you."

* * *

Several dances, a chat at the punch bowl, and a jar of olives later, Thomas and Catherine were walking towards the front doors. The prince was leading his friend to the porch to await Isobel's carriage. The party was reaching its end and it was time for the guests to begin their departure.

"So you've never seen snow before?" Thomas asked, walking over to the porch railing.

"Never."

He nodded, "Then I suppose you haven't been to Orae, either."

"Not once." Catherine replied.

Thomas leaned against the railing, looking out at the crowded drive as crickets chirruped in the night darkness. "Well, I have to tell you, Orae at Christmas is fantastic. They have bigger celebrations there than we do here—parties every night, feasts, banquets, and, of course, the snow ball fights and hunting are enormously fun."

She rested her elbows next to his, "Hmm… and what about those who do not appreciate the snow quite as much?"

He frowned, "Well—I think they sit around by the fire and drink hot chocolate. But honestly, the best part is the hunting. I remember my father taking me out into the Bowl Forest when I was thirteen. I saw a bear that year—it was gigantic."

"Did you kill anything?"

Thomas laughed, "My word, no. My father knew better than to trust me with a crossbow."

"But you still had fun." She remarked.

"Naturally. I mean, nearly getting gored by a wild boar was a bit distressing, but other than that—it was great."

Catherine shook her head, smiling, "You have done so much in your life already. How on earth are you going to keep yourself busy for the rest of it?"

"Ruling." He answered casually. "Apparently it's a job that never stops."

"You might get bored."

"I _know_ I'm going to get bored. But that's all right. Worst comes to worst, I'll go bother you." Thomas grinned at her.

Catherine pushed off from the railing, "You _are_ ridiculous."

"It's taken you this long to realize that?"

She walked past him, responding calmly, "No. Just this long to realize that I might regret this friendship later."

Thomas followed her, smirking, "Oh, I highly doubt you will. I'm funny, handsome, charming-."

"Humble?" She arched an eyebrow.

He pulled a solemn face, "As always."

One of Lord Macintosh's servants walked up, clearing his throat politely. "'Ello, Miss? Your coach is two down the line. You kin come'n wait for it, if you'd please."

Catherine nodded, "Thank you, sir. I think I shall."

The servant bowed and departed to check on the other coaches.

Thomas sighed, "And I suppose now it's time for you to return home."

"Yes, it is."

"At least let me see you to your carriage."

She smiled a 'thank you' and took his arm again, walking down the porch steps to await the carriage.

They stood at the edge of the drive, watching Lord Macintosh's men waving coaches forward and trotting up and down the road, their lanterns swinging from their hands.

After about a minute's mental debate with himself, Thomas made a decision. He looked down at Catherine, asking suddenly, "Are you busy Thursday?"

"No." She turned her face up, intrigued.

"Would you like to be?"

Catherine tilted her chin, "Maybe. Depends on what you have in mind."

"Well-," he glanced away as the line of coaches rolled a few more feet, "-there are these orchards at the back of the palace—they surround the stables. I wondered if you would like to see them?"

"What about the tennis courts? Am I never to see those?"

He grinned, "One day, perhaps. But honestly, the orchards are far more interesting, and I can introduce you to my horse while we're at it."

Catherine's eyes twinkled with amusement, "You're going to introduce me to your horse?"

Thomas winced, "Did that sound stupid?"

"No. Just silly."

He shrugged, "I can live with silly. But seriously, could you come Thursday?"

"My father has a meeting at the palace that day." Catherine replied, thinking. "I could probably ask him to take me up."

"So you do want to come?"

She smiled, "I wouldn't mind it."

"Great. I'll just wait for you in the front hall." Thomas said, even as Isobel's carriage was driven up.

"We should get there sometime early afternoon, two-thirty at the latest."

He beamed at her, "I'll be waiting."

A footman trotted forward and opened the coach door. Thomas, taking Catherine's offered hand, helped her up the carriage step and into the vehicle.

"Thank you for a fantastic evening, Cat."

"Thank _you_." She nodded to him.

"Have a good night."

"Goodbye, Tommy."

The footman closed the door, and Thomas began to walk backwards, still keeping the carriage in sight. Another moment passed, and he turned away to go back to the house.

* * *

Catherine had just settled back in the soft interior of the compartment when, from the _other_ side of the coach, she noticed the sound of a familiar enthusiastic giggling. The giggling was followed by a loud laugh, and the door to her right was abruptly pulled open.

A well-mussed Isobel climbed into the carriage, calling behind her: "Go on—_go_, you silly boy. I'll see you tomorrow. Tomorrow! Yes, you can wait that long!"

"A second from you is like an hour, my darling. Would you punish me so?" The prince of Orae asked in a tone of utter despair.

She smirked slyly, "Well, you _have_ been misbehaving."

"I will see you in the morning, sweet love." Catherine could hear the grin in the man's voice.

"Goodnight. And don't get run over by the next coach!" Laughing, Isobel tugged the door shut and then turned to find her friend sitting across from her.

Immediately, her giggles faltered, and she attempted to pull the sleeves of her dress more securely over her shoulders. Catherine also noticed that Isobel's neat bun had come loose during the party, and her hair fell in untidy swirls around her face. Isobel delicately cleared her throat, "Katie. I—I didn't expect to see you here."

"I came with you to the party." Catherine replied quietly.

"Yes, I know. I just-," she tucked some of her hair behind her ear, "-I thought you'd still be mad at me."

"I still need a ride home."

"Yes, I suppose that's true."

An uncomfortable silence fell as, outside, the driver's sharp whistle caused the horses to start moving and the carriage's wheels began to turn.

They had just driven through the gates of Lord Macintosh's manor when Catherine asked, "Did you have a good night, Isobel?"

Isobel jumped, "What? Oh. Oh yes—yes it was lovely."

"Geoffrey seems like a good man." Catherine ventured carefully.

"He is."

"And he likes you."

She nodded stiffly, "Yes, I noticed."

Another uncomfortable silence fell as the carriage crossed a quiet boulevard.

Then Isobel asked with some hesitation, "Are we still fighting?"

Catherine sighed, smiling, "Not if you forgive me. Isobel, I'm so sorry. I was unkind to you and I should have never said all those things because you certainly didn't deserve it."

"But you were right." Isobel responded, shaking her head. "Oh, Katie, you were right. You know my history with men hasn't been the best—frankly, it's been awful. And it's always been my fault because I never even considered that they might have feelings or hearts. Even tonight, with Geoffrey, I meant to treat him just the same as any of those other boys."

"What changed your mind?"

Isobel shrugged, staring up at the ceiling of the coach, "Well he—he's different. He's a true gentleman who respects ladies and who listens to me when I speak. He's also rather mature compared to some men his age, but I suppose being royalty does that to you."

"Not necessarily." Catherine smiled, thinking briefly of Thomas.

Isobel sighed, apparently not having heard her friend's remark. "I know I've said that I'm not interested in marriage, Katie. I've said that the life of a rich single lady excites me. But really, I wouldn't mind a good man—someone unselfish and kind that I can count on as well as snog to death."

Catherine grinned, "You know, you started that sentence so well. What happened to it?"

"Geoff happened to it."

Catherine raised an eyebrow, pointing out, "You _are_ missing half your lip colors."

"I'm not missing them. I know exactly where they are." Isobel replied unconcernedly.

"And?"

"It's not really Geoff's color, but I think he'll be fine." She answered with clear satisfaction.

Catherine laughed, "If only your father could hear you now."

Isobel's eyes widened, "Don't tell Daddy a word. I'm going to introduce him to Geoff tomorrow afternoon and I want Daddy to like him."

"Your poor father…"

Isobel waved her hand airily, "He'll be all right, don't worry. He needs to realize that his daughter is growing up."

"And kissing men?"

She tilted her head, "You needn't mention that part. I don't think he could stand hearing it."

Catherine smiled, "I'm sure he'll manage. Anyway, Isobel, do you forgive me for saying what I said?"

Isobel reached over and took her hand, responding emphatically, "Yes, Katie, I forgive you for pointing out what I needed to see if you forgive me for doing all that horrible stuff in the first place."

"Isobel, I wouldn't be your friend if I couldn't forgive you of that."

Isobel beamed, "See, this is why we've been friends for years. You're the only one who can put up with me, and I'm the only one who can understand you—aside from Lizzie, of course."

"Of course."

"Anyway, how was your night? Did you dance with the prince again?"

"Yes, I did. But so did you."

"Prince of Orae in no way compares to prince of my own country. I'm sorry, Geoff's brilliant, but that's just how it is."

"Well, we had a good night. It was a lot of fun, and-," Catherine paused, suddenly remembering something. She smiled slowly, adding, "Oh, and by the way, Tommy wanted to know where his olives had gone."

For a long second, Isobel just gaped at Catherine in mixed horror and amusement. Then both girls burst into a fit of giggles that nearly lasted the entire way back to Isobel's house.


	16. Chatting under the apple trees

**Author Note**: Hello, you wonderful people! And yes, I am alive and I have not passed away from some deadly virus or else forgotten you completely! I am still here, and I apologize profusely for not having posted anything since school started. It's been a busy semester, let me tell you, but it's over with and next semester hopefully will hold more opportunities for writing! Anyhoo, I know I said I'd post on Tom's Story and I will as soon as a finish that chapt (I'm working on it, hold on), but this chapter seemed easier to write and I thought I owed it to you all! Really, there's not much more to say than that, so I hope you enjoy it and I also hope that you have had a great Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/whatever it is you celebrate this time of year! And I wish you all a good New Year with God's blessing upon your lives and your fictional exploits! :D Thank you for being patient, kind reviewers, and for caring enough to take time out of your day to read these stories :) I appreciate it, guys, I really do.

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Lord Brian watched his daughter as she gazed out of the taxi coach's window. He smiled slightly, noting how her profile, as outlined by the afternoon sunlight, so greatly resembled that of her mother's. Pretty and intelligent, with just a hint of rebellion hidden behind those green eyes.

"Katie-," he adjusted his trouser leg, asking slowly, "-why exactly did you want to join me on my monthly visit to the palace?"

Catherine continued to look out the window, apparently not having heard him.

"Katie."

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Why are you coming with me, again?"

"Oh—because Tommy invited me."

Ah yes. The prince of Corona had invited _his_—Lord Brian's—daughter to come see the stables with him. Lord Brian thought he had never heard of anything sillier in his entire life. But he knew, as his wife had reminded him just that morning, young people were silly. Of course, Lord Brian had argued that _he_ certainly was not that silly when he was young. His wife merely laughed at him and told him that he had missed a button on his vest.

The taxi coasted up the curving street that led to the palace, its wheels clicking evenly on the pavement and the horse hooves tapping out a brisk trot. Very soon they were rolling into the main courtyard, the walls of the palace rising up in front of them with all the might and majesty the crown had to offer.

A footman came to the door just as the carriage slowed to a stop. He opened it and helped Catherine from the vehicle. The man then offered Lord Brian a hand. In answer, Lord Brian gave him such a stern glare it sent the footman whistling awkwardly away.

Catherine gazed up at the palace, thinking about Thomas and what he had said to her that night out on the Macintoshes' drive. He had seemed so earnest and welcoming then. But now, in the shadows of his home, Catherine felt very small and nervous. It was an awfully big building, and he was an awfully important individual.

"Having second thoughts, Katie?" Lord Brian asked quietly.

Catherine squared her shoulders, responding, "No it's just—well, it's a bit bigger than I remember."

Lord Brian shook his head, "Only if you look at it like that."

"Like what?"

"Looking up, instead of straight-on." He smiled and squeezed her hand, "Shall we go?"

She smiled, "Yes sir."

They ascended one of the staircases to the palace terrace, listening to the ever-present crashing of the ocean. Two solemn-faced guards were posted outside the open front doors, squinting in the sunlight.

Lord Brian nodded politely to them as he passed the threshold and led his daughter into the shady entrance hall. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor as they walked across the royal sun crest. Catherine looked around, puzzled. The prince was nowhere in sight.

"Did he specify a meeting place?" Her father asked, noting her look of confusion.

"He said he'd meet me here. I told him two-thirty."

Lord Brian checked his pocket watch, muttering, "It's actually much closer to three. Katie, I'm going to be late for my meeting if I don't head upstairs."

She nodded, "Go ahead, I'll be all right. He's probably just running late."

"Or he forgot."

Catherine frowned defensively, "He didn't forget."

Lord Brian smirked, "Very well. If you need anything I'll be in the council room listening to the king and my fellow lords moaning about business difficulties."

"Behave yourself."

"Now you sound like your mother."

She laughed, "Go, Daddy."

Lord Brian obeyed, hurrying up the main staircase and taking a right to disappear into the east wing of the palace. Catherine turned around slowly, glancing up at the high ceiling above her. Where on earth could he be? He had promised he would be here. He had told her, specifically, that he would meet her at the door.

Catherine's eyes narrowed. Where _was_ that man?

She considered the possibilities and then settled on what to her seemed the most obvious solution. Thomas must have gotten tied up with work and was unable to come down or even send someone. But how to find him…

Catherine walked over to the front door and hesitantly tapped one of the formidable soldiers on the elbow. He looked down in surprise.

"Yes, how may I help you, Miss?"

"Um, I-," she cleared her throat, "-I was just wondering where the prince's office might be?"

"And why do you want to know that?" Asked the other guard, suspicion in his voice.

"He asked me to meet him here and he hasn't—hasn't shown up yet. I thought he might be busy with work."

The two soldiers exchanged doubtful glances.

"This is a first." Said the first guard.

His partner nodded, "Usually he tries to avoid the ladies."

"I know, but I'm not one of them." Catherine interjected.

They both looked down at her, eyebrows raised.

"You sure look like a lady." The second guard remarked.

Catherine rolled her eyes, correcting, "I mean I'm not interested. I'm just a friend."

"A lady friend?"

The second guard snapped his finger, "Maybe she's an assassin."

His partner snorted, "Oh, come off it. She couldn't make a dent on him."

"How do you know?"

"You're just a right idiot, scaring a girl like that."

"Who's calling _who_ an idiot?" He thumped the other's breastplate.

"I just polished that this morning, you dirty rotten-!"

Catherine set her hands on their elbows again, "Gentlemen, please."

They stopped, taken aback by her boldness.

"Now how do I get to the prince's office?"

* * *

The curtains were absolutely horrendous.

Catherine frowned, staring up at the ghastly yellow drapery. She held one away from the window in an effort to see if it was the lighting or if it really appeared that dreadful. Nope. It was not the lighting.

"What could possess a person to string up such horrible curtains?" She murmured, stepping away from the window and bumping into the prince's desk.

She turned around, setting her hands on the worn surface and looking at the empty office. Thomas was not there, of course, nor did there seem to be any indication of where he had gone. At first, Catherine had been confused. Now she was just annoyed.

Sighing, the girl walked around Thomas's office, looking at the high bookcases that flanked his walls. She ran a finger over a few of the books, discovering that while they had been dusted, they were far from being read regularly. On impulse, she selected one and opened it.

"First edition…signed by the writer…and not a wrinkle in the spine." Catherine smiled, adding, "And you said you were a big reader."

She replaced the novel and continued her scan until she found one she had not expected. Catherine pulled it out, admiring the newness of a green cloth cover that had to be over a hundred years old. Once again, it was first edition.

"'Rory of Clare, a Midlander'. I didn't know this was allowed in Corona."

She started to read, breathing in the musty smell of a book that was aged but unused. She had half a mind to curl up in the prince's chair and spend the rest of her visit reading. After all, the prince was the one who had missed their appointment, not her. Before she had made up her mind, however, Catherine's musings were interrupted by the arrival of the queen.

"Tommy dear, you're late for—oh." The queen smiled upon catching sight of Catherine. "Hello."

Catherine dropped the book she was holding in surprise. She hastily bent down to retrieve it, stammering out an apology, "I-I'm sorry, your Majesty. I didn't know you were—um-," the book slipped out from her hand and Catherine muttered something rather unladylike. "Oh, I'm sorry! That was rude." She placed the book on the side table, trying to ignore how hot her face felt.

The queen smiled, "No, dear, it's quite all right."

There was an embarrassed pause.

Then Catherine started for the door, "I should be leaving."

"Wait a minute—you're Catherine, aren't you? Marie's daughter?"

Catherine stopped and nodded, half-turning around. "Yes, your Majesty."

"How is your mother—your family?"

She turned around to face her, answering, "Mother's fine. They're all fine."

"And how are you?" The queen asked.

Catherine grinned sheepishly, admitting, "Honestly I feel a bit stupid. I suppose people aren't normally allowed to be reading the prince's books."

"Considering he never reads them himself, I don't think it really matters." The queen picked up the green-covered book from the side table. She then handed it to Catherine, "You can probably borrow this, dear. I'm sure he won't mind."

Uncertainly, she accepted the book, replying, "Thank you."

The queen smiled, her blue eyes kind. They were a lot like her son's.

"Now, I'm afraid I have to ask you, what exactly are you doing here in my son's office?"

Catherine nervously tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, replying, "Tom—_his Highness_ asked me if I could come over this afternoon."

"Come to the palace?"

She nodded, "He said he'd meet me downstairs at the door, but he wasn't there so I wondered if he had been caught up with work or something. I asked one of the guards and he told me where T—the prince's office was."

The queen sighed dully, "And, like me, you have yet to find him."

"The room was empty when I arrived."

"Mmm." The queen walked over to the desk, rifling through the papers upon it. "Well I'm sure he didn't just step out with no note or—ah." She removed a folded piece of stationary from the pile. "This has your name on it."

Catherine took the message, smirking at the bold 'Cat' written across the front. She read its contents within a few seconds, announcing: "Apparently he's waiting for me down at the stables."

"No apology?"

"No ma'am."

Thomas's mother groaned, exasperated, "I promise you, dear, I _did_ raise him better than this."

Catherine smiled, shrugging, "Oh, I don't mind."

"You have Marie's patience, certainly." The queen laughed, a warm sound that did much to calm Catherine's remaining nervousness. "All right, Catherine. Would you mind very much to go down and scold Tommy senseless for abandoning his post? I'd do it myself but somehow I think you deserve the satisfaction more."

"I—I would but I don't know where the stables are."

The queen nodded, "Then I'll take you down there myself. Perhaps along the way I can tell you some stories about your mother and I when we were in academy together."

"You were in academy together?"

The queen companionably took Catherine's arm in hers, leading her out into the hallway. "We met my second year of school and disliked each other on sight. She was far too smart and pretty and I was far too clever and rich. Either way, though, we became the best of friends after serving detention together."

Catherine raised her eyebrows in surprise, "Mother never told us about serving detention."

"She probably also never told you about how she ended up with thirteen demerits at the end of the semester, either. Granted, about half of those were my fault, but _most_ of them were hers."

"I can't believe my mother got demerits." Catherine said, amused.

Thomas's mother smirked mischievously, "Oh, there are a lot of stories I could tell you, dear. And, if we run out, we can always talk about my son. That's twenty-two year's worth of stories there."

"Tommy wouldn't like that."

The queen felt an inward cheer at Catherine's use of her son's nickname, responding, "No, he wouldn't. But that is what makes it so much fun."

* * *

Catherine's trip down to the stables, as led by the queen, proved to be quite enjoyable. The walk was nice, the breeze fresh and clear, and the stories were hilarious.

"And then the dear boy marches into my room, his chest puffed out and head held high. He announces dramatically, 'Mother, do you notice anything different?' And of course, me, being his mother, I exclaimed, 'Oh no, dear, what on earth could you be talking about?' Then he juts out his little chin and declares proudly, 'Do you see how well it's coming in?' And I said, 'Dear, it looks marvelous.' Truth be told, all he had were a few tiny hairs—not anything to be bragging about. But the dear boy was so happy I didn't have the heart to tell him anything different. Then he went off to show his father."

"What did his Majesty think?" Catherine asked, laughing.

The queen smiled fondly, "I heard the laughter from downstairs. I don't think William ever found anything quite as funny in his entire life. Tommy had a bruised ego the rest of the day and it got even worse when I told him to shave his whiskers off. I managed to convince him to keep shaving until it could grow in properly. It wasn't until after he turned twenty-one last spring that it really came in. He grew it out fully during the winter. Now, of course, he looks quite handsome with it and wouldn't shave it off for anybody in the world."

"He would look rather strange without it." Catherine agreed.

"Dear, he'd look absolutely naked. I mean, I'd laugh but the poor boy wouldn't speak to me for a week." She sighed, glancing around as they walked into a set of trees, "Really, I suppose I'd better warn whatever girl he does marry not to broach the subject with him. Otherwise the marriage could end rather badly."

"_Has_ he actually expressed interest in any girls?"

The queen pursed her lips thoughtfully, answering, "A few. Some more than others, of course. Overall, though, I think he's still striding boldly into the dark and claiming he does not need a wife. And I understand. He really doesn't _need_ one to rule a country. But he needs one to live—and that's something he doesn't understand yet."

Catherine nodded understandingly as the queen slowed to a stop.

"It appears we have arrived, Catherine dear. The stables are off in that direction-," she gestured to their right, "-but I'm sure if you walk around for a minute you'll trip over Tommy eventually. It's been delightful talking to you."

"Your Majesty, the pleasure is mine, I am sure." Catherine replied, smiling.

The queen shook her head, "Nonsense. I hardly have anyone to talk to on weekdays. My husband's usually working and all of my other friends are planning weddings for their reasonable sons so… Perhaps—could you ask your mother to come over for tea sometime? She need only send me a letter in advance and I'll organize everything."

The girl nodded, "I'll tell her. I'm sure she wouldn't mind tea."

"Probably not." Thomas's mother smiled, "Have a wonderful day, dear. Make sure he does get back to work—eventually. And give him a thorough tongue-lashing for skipping out on you."

"I will. Good day, your Majesty."

"Good day." The queen turned and began to make her way back to the palace, leaving Catherine to walk alone amongst the trees.

They were apple trees—most lacking apples as it was not the season for them—and they were quite large, healthy things. Their lofty branches provided an abundance of shade, broken only by ribbons of sunlight that fell down through gaps in the leaves. Catherine turned her face to the strong sea wind, watching and listening as it stirred the green grasses with its fierce call.

It sounded louder out here. Wilder. Unhindered by the buildings and walls of the city, the wind was free to blow, as poets often say, where'er it pleased. And today, it did just that.

She took her shoes off and tread barefoot across the sun-warmed earth, holding her shoes in one hand while the other cradled Rory of Clare's writings. The land sloped into a slight rise, and she ascended through the trees, breeze catching at her skirt and tossing her hair playfully about her shoulders. She smiled under the gleaming face of the sun.

This really was a lovely place. She did not blame him for coming out here, though she did wish he had waited. But where was he?

Then Catherine spotted a pair of long legs stretched out beneath a nearby tree. After further inspection, she found the prince of Corona lying sprawled on his back, arms behind his head and a smile of deep contentment below his mustache.

Catherine purposely stood in front of his sunshine and crossed her arms, clearing her throat.

Thomas opened one eye, and, upon seeing whom it was, parted his lips in a grin. "Good afternoon, Cat."

She cocked her head, "'Good afternoon, Cat'? What about, 'I'm sorry I forgot to meet you in the front hall, Cat'? Or maybe, 'I apologize for the inconvenience my absence has caused you, Cat'?"

Thomas sat up, laughing, "Well it's good to see you too. Are you really that upset that I didn't meet you at the door?"

"You said you would." She replied, her tone pointed.

"Yes, I did." He nodded. "But do you know what would've happened if I had waited around for you?"

"What?"

"I would have been summoned to a meeting, you'd still have to come down the stables all by yourself, and I wouldn't be here to enjoy this absolutely gorgeous day with you."

Catherine feigned indifference, "Somehow I can't see how that would be a bad thing."

"All right, all right—I'm sorry for not meeting you when I said I would. Now, would you like to pull up a bit of grass?" He patted the ground at his side, looking at her expectantly.

His friend took a seat next to him and plucked a blade of grass, handing it to him.

"What's this for?"

"You said to pull up a bit of grass, so I did."

Thomas's grin widened and he took the piece of grass, set it between his thumbs, and proceeded to 'whistle' through it.

Catherine snorted, "Oh you sound like a dying duck, stop it."

"I _feel_ like a dying duck after being verbally abused by you. Why, the shame!" He 'whistled' again. "The shame of being considered less than a gentleman!"

Smiling, Catherine hit him lightly on the shoulder, protesting, "Stop making me laugh! I'm still not happy with you."

He shrugged, "That's okay, cause I'm still not happy with you either."

"What did I ever do?"

"You-," he paused, thinking up an answer before settling with, "-you were late."

Catherine's eyes narrowed, "I was not late."

"You were outrageously late." Thomas said, adding another grass 'whistle' just for kicks.

She snatched the grass from him, "I wasn't."

"You stole my grass."

"Yes, and I'm not apologizing."

He suddenly noticed the book in her hand, "Is that mine?"

Catherine started defensively, "Your mother said I could borrow—hey!"

But he had already taken it from her and was flipping through the pages. "I don't recognize this book."

"Then how do you know it's yours?" She asked, folding her arms again.

"Emblem on the spine-," he tapped the golden sun, "-crest of the royal house of Corona. You only find them on books personally owned by the crown."

"Well give it back." Catherine held out her hand.

"Why should I?"

"Because you've never read it before and I don't see you starting now."

Thomas frowned, humming as he continued to read, "A-hmm—hmm…" suddenly his eyebrows shot up in surprise, "_Mmm_?"

"What is it?"

"This was written by a Midlander." He gave her the book and lay back down, remarking, "That's interesting."

She nodded, "Yes, Rory of Clare is a very interesting writer."

"No." He said. "What's interesting is that you chose _that_ book out of the hundred or so in my office."

"Well-," Catherine hesitated, watching his face, "-my mother's a Midlander and she-."

"Is she really?" Thomas looked up at her, clearly surprised.

"Yes, she is." The girl replied, a slight edge to her voice.

"I never knew that."

"It's not really something you tell people."

"All the same-," he propped himself up on his elbow, "-you're a Midlander?"

Catherine shrugged, "On my mother's side only. As for Daddy, his ancestors have been chasing cows over Corona's pasturelands for generations."

"Half Midlander." Thomas grinned, "Well that explains why you've developed a habit of throwing books at me. You've got rebel blood in your veins."

Catherine rolled her eyes, "Tommy, please. They're not all rebels."

"I know they're not all rebels. I've even got some relations in the Midlands somewhere up the line. Almost every family in Corona does. We're essentially one people separated into two countries."

"I imagine there a several noblemen who would argue with you there." She said quietly.

He sighed, "Yes, and they are quite wrong. The Midlands may have rebelled, but those people are still Coronan. Not necessarily under Corona's rule but most certainly under our protection."

"At one point our grandfathers were probably enemies."

"At one point." He inclined his head, adding, "But not any longer."

Catherine smiled.

"How did your mother get here?" Thomas asked.

"Her father was an attorney and got a job in Corona. They moved to the capital when she was sixteen, and she met your mother at academy."

"I remember her saying that they knew each other when they were young."

Catherine grinned, gazing up at the leaves, "They got into all kinds of mischief at school. Apparently, during her second year, my mother led a group of girls out of bed after hours to steal cookies from the kitchen. The matron found them, and _everyone_ was given detention." The girl shook her head, whispering, "I never knew that. But your mother told me so many stories and I just had to ask for more…"

It was a moment before Thomas's mind registered what she had just said.

"You talked to my mother?"

Catherine nodded, glancing at him, "Yes, don't you remember? I said she let me borrow your book."

"Did you talk to her long?"

"Well, she walked with me most of the way to the stables and we talked during the trip."

"My mother doesn't do walking." Thomas stated, almost as if Catherine had made some ludicrous claim.

Catherine tilted her chin in satisfaction, leaning back against the tree. "Evidently, she made an exception today."

Thomas pouted, "What did you talk about?"

"Why should you care?" She asked, finding the guarded curiosity in his voice rather enjoyable.

"Because I—well, because I do."

"Because why?"

"Be—_cause_ there are certain stories I would rather my friends not hear." He said all this very quickly.

"Oh, well, we talked about those." She responded, opening her book to read.

"_Cat_." He actually sounded injured.

Catherine ignored him as she plowed on: "Yes, we giggled about all the ridiculous things you've done in your life. All the misdeeds and mistakes you've incurred from boyhood to manhood and everything in between."

He frowned up at her, and she laughed.

"All right, all right. If you _must_ know, all we talked about was my mother and one story about a certain young man who is very proud of his whiskers."

Thomas rubbed his jaw, "Well, they're a nice set of whiskers. He should be proud of them."

"Hmm."

"So you don't like them?"

"I didn't say that." She turned a page.

"So you _do_ like them." Thomas remarked, pleased.

"I didn't say that either."

"Ah, Cat… you give me a headache." He mourned, placing his hand over his eyes.

"Ask me silly questions and you'll receive silly answers." She replied lightly.

He gave a rumbling, wry chuckle, listening to the twittering of birds and the soft sounds of Catherine running her finger along the pages of her book. The world beneath him was wide and living. Grass tickled his ears and the smell of dirt and salt filled his nostrils. He could almost feel the heavy breakers smacking against the rocky shores of the island. It was a very peaceful sensation, especially when he considered what the alternative plans for his day had been. Instead of a sitting in a stuffy meeting room with a group of boring old men, he was able to relax outside under the sun with much prettier company.

The very tiniest twinge of guilt struck him in the form of his abandoned duties along with the fact that he had not thought about his cousin at all today. For some reason, he was starting to miss him less and less, and the reports, as of late, seemed to be piling up unread. But Freddy was fine and doing well, and his work could wait.

Catherine turned another page in her book, and he peeked out from between his fingers, once again appreciating the freckles on her face.

Wait for all eternity if it wanted to…

Thomas removed his hand and, asked, "If you could change one thing about the kingdom, what would it be?"

Catherine wrinkled her nose, "What kind-of question is that?"

"A random nonsense sort of question you ask somebody lying under an apple tree."

"I'm sitting up." She corrected.

"And I'm not. So-," he beamed at her cheerfully, "-if you had unlimited resources and could change one thing about the kingdom, what would it be?"

Catherine looked into the distance, "Unlimited resources?"

"Everything at your disposal. Anything you possibly could need."

"I could change one thing?"

"One thing only." Thomas said.

It was a second or two before she finally decided, "Your curtains."

"Pardon?"

"The curtains in your office—I don't like them and I would change them."

Thomas looked at her incredulously. "What's wrong with my curtains?"

Catherine shrugged, "They're horrible. I don't know who picked them out but the coloring clashes dreadfully with the carpet."

"I happen to like those curtains."

"Do you know what color they are?"

"Yes, they are my favorite color." He lied.

"Which is?" She asked.

"Green."

Catherine looked at him, "My eyes are green, Tommy. Those curtains are the color furthest from green."

"Oh." Thomas suddenly discovered he had a new favorite color—the exact same shade and tint as the girl's eyes.

"Exactly." She returned to her reading.

Thomas frowned, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Finally he declared, "I liked your sister's answer better."

Catherine sighed and closed her book, resigning herself to conversation. "Whose answer?"

"Georgiana. She said she'd fill up the fountain in the plaza with melted chocolate."

"And set little strawberries skating across the surface?" Catherine asked.

The prince raised his eyebrows, "She didn't get that detailed, but I'm sure she wouldn't object to the addition."

"And what would you change?"

"You mean besides the chocolate fountain?"

She smiled, "Yes."

He thought for a long moment, staring up at the patches of sky through the leaves and pulling absently at the grass. Then he grinned, answering, "I'd change the curtains in my office."

"You're picking on me!" Catherine cried, half-laughing.

Thomas shook his head, "No I'm not—I'm being perfectly serious. If they're really so atrocious they deserve to be changed and I might just do that this afternoon. But of course-," he glanced over at her, "-you'd have to come and help. I don't do patterns or matching very well."

"No you don't."

"How do you know that?"

"Did you pick out that cravat to wear today?" She asked, opening her book again.

"Yes."

"Thought so."

"What's wrong with my cravat?"

She shook her head, muttering, "I wouldn't know where to start."

Thomas gazed down at himself, "Well it's not—it doesn't match my vest, does it? Is that the problem? Just a-," he noticed an inchworm crossing his chest, and grinned, "-hello, there."

Catherine frowned, "Hello, what?"

"Now _that's_ going to take you all day to measure."

"Tommy, what are you-?" Catherine glanced at him and spotted the little green worm bunching itself up to climb a button.

Wordlessly, she scooted over an inch or five away from the man.

"I'm getting measured for a new suit, Cat." Thomas answered her unfinished question, smiling down at the little creature.

"I can see that."

Amused, Thomas began to count, "One inch, two inches, three…"

"Are you seriously going to let it crawl all over you like that?"

"He's not doing me any harm."

"Tommy it—he—oh-," she rolled her eyes, "-_whatever_ you call him! He's just gross."

Thomas smirked, "Ah. You don't like bugs."

"I don't like bats. Why on earth would you think I like—_don't_ you dare-!" Catherine jumped up, backing away from his outstretched hand on which the caterpillar now perched.

Thomas laughed, rising to his feet, "My, my, if ever a Cat could glare."

"Tommy, that's not funny."

"I beg to differ." He replied, carefully moving his hand so the inchworm could clamber over his knuckles.

Catherine stepped back again, lifting a warning finger, "You just keep that little, green, wiggly thing away from me."

"What do you want me to do? Kill him?"

"No, of course not!" She exclaimed. "Just—go put him on a tree or something far away from here."

Thomas bowed, "If you insist. Far, far away from here."

"Very far." Catherine called, sitting back down upon the grass as he walked off through the trees.

Thomas smiled down at the inchworm, whispering, "Can you believe that? She's afraid of little old you."

The caterpillar continued its trek around his palm, its tiny feet hardly noticeable on his flesh.

"Probably not afraid of much else, though." The man remarked, glancing around at the trees.

He remembered having swordfights around these very trees with his cousins. Although back then, the trees were columns in some forgotten cathedral or the remains of a dragon's ruined fortress. Every summer they used to come out here, running about and shouting. And they had built a tree house just—there.

Thomas grinned, gazing up into the branches of a large apple tree. There was a fairly rickety construction of wooden planks crisscrossing the limbs. Granted, it had been years since they had built it, but Thomas felt a stroke of pride that the construction was still in existence.

"Tell you what, my friend-," Thomas said to the inchworm scrunching its way around his wrist, "-I'll just set you up there. Far away from Cat, and far away from whatever birds happen to be about."

* * *

_'I tread down the streets of Roscommon, my eyes flitting about at the many soldiers cloistered in a nearby pub. The men are young, most of them should probably be in school, and each one wears a uniform sewn by his mother. They are whispering about treason-about rebellion and about leaving the country that had so long called itself their homeland. I can't bear the thought of the fellows torn asunder by the sword. But what can a poor writer do? What can anyone do when the kingdom is breaking to splinters and ambitious mercenaries are pouring in from the Lock shouting their cries of "freedom"?_

_'Today is the last day before the battle. I can feel it. The whole city can feel it. We are at the brink of...'_

Catherine had been absorbed in the words of Rory of Clare when a strange sound—it sounded like a yell—and a faint tremor of the earth caused her to look up in confusion.

Then confusion quickly turned to realization and shock.

"Tommy." Catherine hastily got to her feet and ran off in the direction that the prince had taken not five minutes before.

She reached a clearing and stopped, glancing around. There was a man lying at the base of a tree.

Catherine hurried over, falling to her knees as she repeated, "Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no."

Thoughts of being put on trial for having let the prince go and kill himself began to flood the girl's panicked mind. She could see the queen (whom she quite liked, having now met her properly) condemning her to forty years' hard labor, glaring at her with majestic disapproval.

But then Thomas was opening his eyes and she had more important things to worry about.

"Tommy, are you-," she set her hands on his face, brushing back his hair, "-are you all right?"

Waking up to a splitting headache is probably one of the worst experiences in the world. However, since Thomas was also waking up to the inexplicably pleasant experience of soft hands stroking his face, he found himself distinctly confused. Therefore, his response to her question was far from adequate, as it mostly consisted of a weak, puzzled moaning.

"Oh, you dear stupid man. What on earth were you doing?" Catherine muttered concernedly.

Thomas grinned. It was nice to be fussed over.

"Are you _smiling_?"

He rearranged his face, murmuring, "I wasn't—that was a wince. Get off."

"Are you sure you should be sitting up?" She asked, even as he attempted to do just that.

Thomas replied irritably, "Cat, I'm fine."

"Let me check your head."

"No I-." But she had already bent his head forward and was examining the back. He could feel her fingers gingerly moving his hair around.

She hissed, "Oh dear. You've got a bump."

"I know I've got a bump. I fell out of a tree."

"Don't be cross." Catherine ordered absently, removing her hands. "Hmm—you may have a concussion."

Thomas rolled his eyes, "I don't have a concussion."

"Who is king of the country?"

"Cat, I'm not-."

"Who's the king?" She asked sternly, looking at him.

The prince sighed, answering, "My father."

"And what is your name?"

"Thomas."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Your eyes." He said without thinking.

Catherine frowned, "What?"

"Green. And I'm fine, so stop with the questions." Thomas began to stand, using the tree for support.

She watched him, responding, "Well, I suppose you're okay."

"Thank you."

"Still, we should probably get someone to have a look at you." Catherine said, also standing.

Thomas shook his head, earning himself another bout of headache pain, and said, "No, I don't think so."

"There might be someone in the stables."

"I'm not having some horse doctor poke the back of my head."

"And I'm not having your mother saying I didn't take care of you properly. We're going to the stables." She grabbed his hand and began towing him along.

"Cat I don't—I can walk on my own." He objected.

"Come along, Tommy."

And so it was, with a throbbing headache and feeling very much like a misbehaving toddler, Thomas allowed himself to be pulled towards the stables. They only stopped once to collect Catherine's shoes and the book he had already written off as 'forever hers'. The rest of the way, however, Catherine kept a firm grasp of his hand and led him straight on to where the stables stood.

* * *

There were only two men working in the stables that day—a horse groomer named Klip, and Ladson, a farrier. The farrier was replacing a shoe on one of the horses while the groom mucked out the stalls. They both glanced at each other as their prince and his lady friend approached the building.

Ladson smirked as he finished filing down the nails in the horse's hoof, grunting, "Looks like Prince Tom 'as a girlfriend."

"'Oo is she?" Klip asked, leaning on his shovel handle.

"Dunno. Better be polite though, cos 'ere she comes."

Catherine tugged Thomas into the stable, smiling at the men. "Good afternoon, Gentlemen."

The groom doffed his hat respectfully, "'Ello, Miss. Wot can we do fer you?"

She shrugged, gesturing to her ward, "Well, his Highness here took a tumble and bumped his head."

"I fell out of a tree." Thomas snapped.

Klip frowned, "Wot was 'e doing h'up h'a tree?"

"I'm not quite sure." Catherine glanced at her friend, "What _were_ you doing up there?"

"Does it matter?" He asked wearily.

She raised her eyebrows, "I suppose not. At any rate, would one of you fine men mind checking him out to see if he needs to see the physician?"

"I'm fine." Thomas said.

Ladson stepped away from the horse, wiping his hands on his soot-spotted apron, "I'll 'ave a look at 'im, Miss. After all, 'e's about as beg as a 'orse anyhow."

Catherine beamed, "Thank you so very much."

"I'm not as big as a horse." Thomas muttered.

Catherine gently pushed him forward, "Go, Tommy. Let the man look at you."

Grudgingly, Thomas allowed himself to be seated on a bale of hay. The farrier patted him on the shoulder in a friendly fashion, "All right, sir, if you'd jest bend for'ard a bit."

Catherine leaned against a nearby stall, looking at Klip, "You gentlemen keep a fine stable. It's very clean here."

The groom grinned, "Why thankee, Miss. We try to do our best."

"It reminds me a little bit of home." She said, inhaling the smell of straw and horses. "I grew up on a dairy farm and—oh!" Catherine felt something bump her in the back. She turned around to find a white horse snuffling at her.

Klip nodded, "That'd be Maxie—Maximilian, to those 'oo give 'im that respect."

"Maximilian." Catherine smiled, rubbing the horse's nose. "Is this your horse, Tommy?"

He glanced at her, "Yes, and don't you go spoiling him or—ouch!"

"Lookee there. A little lump on 'is 'ighness's 'ead." Ladson said, evidently amused.

"Is he all right?" Catherine asked.

The farrier bowed, "Yes, Miss. 'E jest needs to see a proper doc to get fixed up and 'e'll be fine."

"Oh, you're a proper doctor too. Isn't he, Maximilian?" Catherine said, setting her cheek against the horse's face and humming happily. The horse responded with an affectionate nicker.

Thomas rubbed the back of his head, glaring at the two of them. He had never envied a horse so much. Why the stupid creature was getting kisses simply by being fuzzy! And of course, Catherine's interactions with the horse only made her more adorable, which only made him more—wait—where had _that_ thought come from?

"Must've hit my head harder than I thought." Thomas muttered, standing up and going over to where Maximilian was getting his chin scratched.

"He's such a sweet horse." Catherine complimented, beaming up at him.

Perhaps it was the hit on his head—or perhaps it was the way her green eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight—but Thomas cleared his throat: "Klip."

"Yes sir?"

"Can you get a couple of apple slices for Cat to feed Maximilian?"

Klip bobbed his head, "H'all right, your 'ighness. I'll jest be a mo'—I think I've got a few summer apples in the back."

"Thank you."

Catherine gazed at the prince, "You'll let me feed your horse?"

"Yes I will. And after you've finished, I'll even let you march me up to the infirmary so the court physician can get his share of prodding for the day."

She laughed, stroking Maximilian's nose. Thomas reached out and petted the horse's forehead, commenting, "He's an old flirt, really. Knows how to get treats, don't you, Maximilian?"

The horse snorted, and Thomas smiled.


	17. Caught in the rain

**Author Note**: Hello you guys! I hope you are all doing well and that your summer is going along splendidly! :D Anyhoo, just finished this chapter and thought you might want to check it out when you've got the chance :D Hopefully I'll be able to post more now that I'm done with summer classes :D Allrighty, what else... oh yes, if you guys want to check out another romance story, for free, on the internet, you should totally check out P.G. Wodehouse's _A Damsel in Distress_. It's hilarious and very well-written. Another thing, I forgot to say this earlier but a very talented artist did some fanart for This Is the Story. She is on deviantart and her username is BookLover1123 :D check her out and fav her and all that stuff because she's pretty awesome! :D

P.S. As for updates, I'm not sure when the next one will come but I'll keep working on it! In the meantime go out and relax in the sun a bit with a good book! Thank you guys so much for reading, faving, reviewing, and your patience! God bless you all!

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story.

* * *

Catherine trotted along the street, looking in the windows of all the stores and once again checking the nearby clock tower.

Nearly an hour past, and she still had not shown up.

"Isobel…"

She sighed and lifted her eyes to survey the business of High Street. It was market day, the stalls and booths were out in dozens, and merchants were hawking at every corner. Even the shop doors were propped open, inviting customers into the shade. The bakery sent out wafts of rising bread to mingle with the rich scents of the tobacco store. A large man carried a barrel of wine into a tavern while a fisherman mended his nets outside. The innkeeper dusted her front step, smiling at her husband as he cleaned the windows of their establishment.

Townsfolk walked about, bobbing in and out of doorways or else pausing to see the items for sale. Mothers corralled their children past the confectionary to reach the candle-maker's store. A man talked to his son about the latest event in politics. A couple of sailors of the royal navy, recently in port, joked with some city guardsmen out on lunch break. There were also a few foreigners in the crowd as well. Turbaned, bearded men from Auxuria sat outside a café, discussing business in their native tongue as they sipped their coffee. A dark-skinned gypsy woman rearranged the woven baskets on her table, hoping to entice passersby with her wares. In a corner, three men from nearby Gralt reviewed one of the many newspapers published in Corona's capital.

All of this, and despite having traveled the length of the street twice, Catherine had not found her friend anywhere. They had planned to meet outside 'Ye Cosy Nooke' for a brief lunch before spending the remainder of the afternoon shopping. Catherine had waited at a table in the teashop for at least half an hour before venturing out to find Isobel. Now, a good fifteen minutes later, she had quite given up hope.

Catherine took a slight detour from the main road to stop at the second-hand shop. She began to peruse a table of old books sitting outside the store. They were beautiful creatures, the lot of them. Leather-bound, their covers wrinkled and shining with use, their pages yellowed from the sun. Each one smelled like its previous home had been a shelf in a university professor's study. And the titles! She had never seen such an array.

Starting to feel that Isobel's absence could not ruin her day entirely, Catherine reached out for a small book resting in the middle of the table. She accidently brushed hands with a customer reaching from the other side.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't-." She started, and then broke off upon hearing a familiar voice say, "It's not a problem."

Catherine looked up to find herself standing in front of Thomas. They exchanged smiles of pleasant surprise.

"Hello."

"Good afternoon."

They both glanced at the book again and then immediately made a grab for it. Thomas was faster, and he swept the book up, laughing, "Ha. Got it."

Catherine narrowed her eyes, "That's not fair! I reached for it first."

"You did not. I did."

"Are you even going to read it?"

"Hmm-," he considered the volume for a second, "-nope. But I can buy it for you."

Catherine started, "What? No, you don't have to do that!"

He shrugged, "Why not? It's my choice to spend my money how I wish and since you're obviously enamored with this book there's nothing I can do but buy it for you."

"You're silly."

"Why thank you." Thomas smirked.

She walked over to join him on the other side of the table, snatching the book from him. "At least let me make sure I even want it."

"Okay." He watched her flip through the pages, smiling to himself as she muttered under her breath.

Eventually Catherine closed the book and gave it to him, declaring, "If you so insist, you may indeed purchase it."

"Lovely." He walked over to the man sitting at a counter just inside the shop door.

Catherine, pretending to examine the books again, peeked out of the corner of her eye to watch the prince. He was attempting small talk with the gruff shop owner and failing tremendously. She smiled down at the poetry book in her hands. It amused her to be meeting him downtown just days after she had visited his home. She had not expected to see him until the next party, whenever that would be, but she found herself rather pleased at this turn of events.

Thomas came back into the sunlight, waving the book at her. "_St. Baskin's Account of the Hierarchy_, newly-purchased just for you."

"Thank you." Catherine replied, accepting the gift.

He gestured to their surroundings, "Shall I provide you some company wherever you're going?"

"Don't you have a lot of royal duties to attend to?"

He shrugged, walking along with her as they continued down the street. "I had a meeting down at the guardhouse this morning, and now all that awaits me in the palace is paperwork."

"And you're keen to put that off as long as possible, aren't you?" she asked knowingly.

"Fairly keen, yes. And anyway-," Thomas smiled up at the blue sky and fluffy white clouds, "-it's too nice a day to stay inside."

"The almanac said it would rain sometime this afternoon."

He laughed, "Who reads the almanac these days? One of my father's councilmen claims his elbows are more accurate at predicting the weather than the almanac."

Catherine raised an eyebrow at him, responding, "Scoff if you want, sir, but that book is usually right."

"Usually. Anyway, if it _is_ going to rain, what are you doing down here?" he asked as they returned to the crowds and business of High Street.

She squeezed past two ladies arguing about vegetable prices. "I was waiting for Isobel. We were going to go shopping today but she hasn't shown up yet."

Thomas's face took on a guilty expression. "Ah. I could probably tell you why."

"Why?"

He scratched the back of his neck, "Geoffrey asked if he could borrow one of the palace's chaise carts. I said yes."

Catherine sighed, "And now my friend is off on a date with her beau, completely forgetting we ever planned to meet today."

"Most likely. I do apologize."

"No, it's not your fault," she replied, shaking her head. "I just wish that—well, now that Isobel is with Geoffrey, I've hardly ever seen her."

Thomas stopped as Catherine slowed in front of a fabric store to see the selections outside. "Well, good news for you then: Geoff is going to head back to Orae in three days. Soon you'll have Miss Isobel back to yourself."

"Yes, and all she will do is mope." She shifted the different swatches, frowning. "You know, for a girl who said she didn't want a beau, she's certainly enjoying herself."

"He takes her out in other men's chaise carts, of course she'd enjoy it," Thomas replied.

"You didn't have to tell him yes."

He inclined his head. "I wouldn't have if I had known he was planning on stealing your companion for the afternoon. But I didn't know, so you can't blame me."

"Then why did you apologize?"

Thomas opened his mouth, shut it, looked confused, and finally answered, "I'm not sure."

"It's because you're a good man, Tommy. A good man who-," Catherine held up a piece of fine, dark purple fabric for him, "-has awful curtains in his office and could stand to change them."

Thomas looked at the scrap she was brandishing at him. "Are you still on about that?"

She nodded, "You asked me what I would change about the kingdom and I said your curtains. Well, here's a good example of what you could replace them with."

"Purple?" He warily took the cloth from her, a wrinkle of confusion creasing his forehead.

"Yes. And look—it's got little suns sewn into the fabric."

He shook his head, deciding, "That would be expensive to make curtains out of."

"Good thing you're rich, then," Catherine said, sounding more than a little smug.

"Are you going to bully me into buying something else for you?"

"These are for _you_, and anyway it's just a suggestion."

"Put in an order and have some new curtains shipped up to the palace?" Thomas asked, his mind already calculating the cost.

Catherine smiled. "Put in an order and I will personally pick them up and bring them to the palace myself. I'll even hang them up for you."

Thomas considered her offer, gazing at the confident expression on her face. Finally he grinned. "You're determined, aren't you? That's funny."

"And?" she asked. She was visualizing how excellent the new curtains would look in his office.

The prince tilted his head to the side, agreeing, "All right. I can do that if you promise to get them and bring them up _and_ hang them up. That way if they look bad, it's your fault."

"They won't look bad."

"Promise?"

"Yes." She took the cloth from him and started for the door. "Come inside—I'll help you arrange your order."

"I can arrange my own order."

"And get yourself thoroughly cheated in the process. Who normally does these kind of things for the palace?"

"My mother does. Or rather, she gives the order and the servants do it," Thomas answered.

Catherine nodded, "Exactly. Servants who know how to deal with small shop owners and their black little hearts."

His eyes widened at her words. "Cat, I'm surprised at you."

"Shouldn't be. I grew up about three miles away from a village where everybody haggled the stuffing out of everybody else. It's the best way to make money, and you have to learn fast if you're going to come out on top."

"All right then. Impress me with your experienced business mastery."

Catherine smirked and entered the fabric shop.

* * *

Some minutes later, they exited with Catherine looking supremely satisfied and Thomas, quite impressed, though he tried to hide it.

"And now where are we going, Tommy?"

"I don't know, but wherever we go I'm afraid I'll end up buying something."

"You _needed_ new curtains. And anyway, I got you a good deal."

He glanced back at the store, remarking, "I think I heard the shopkeeper crying behind his counter when we left. A bit harsh, weren't you?"

Catherine shrugged, "The trick is to always be polite while you're pulling the rug out from underneath them. That way they can't get too angry with you."

"This is a side of you I haven't seen much of. Well—except when you argued with me about Leon of Pharx or politics."

The girl smiled unapologetically, saying, "That man had it coming when he began to flatter you. The moment they start that, you know you're losing half your bank account and you have every right to defend yourself."

"I suppose so."

"See? It's not so bad to go shopping with me."

Thomas shrugged, admitting, "Better than Freddy, at any rate. All he'd do would be flirting with the lady shop assistants."

"How is Freddy? Have you heard from him recently?" She looked at him, happy to see the smile that crossed his face at her question.

"Yes I have—I received a letter from him yesterday. He's doing well for himself. Learning and studying and earning his new title. Truth be told, he actually plans to come home on Friday."

"Friday?"

"Yes, Friday."

"Oh." She could not quite pinpoint why the news bothered her so much.

"Although, he doesn't want to leave-," Thomas plowed on, not noticing the change in her voice, "-says there's too much for him to do and that the girls in Livesley are far too pretty to abandon to the 'rogues of the night'."

She raised her eyebrows. "'Rogues of the night'?"

"His words, not mine."

"But he's doing well?"

He nodded. "Yes, he is. And before you say 'I told you so', let me just say: Cat, you were right, and thank you for having confidence in my cousin when most people wouldn't."

"You're welcome." She grinned.

The prince glanced around as they began to weave their way through the last dregs of the market day crowds. "Before we get too far from High Street, is there anything else you wanted to do today?"

"I need to be home soon. I didn't have lunch and I think Mother's making an early dinner."

Thomas pursed his lips, asking casually, "Would you mind if we made a quick trip to the wharf? There's something down there I've been wanting to check up on."

"What is it?"

"It's a pet project… of sorts." He said, looking away.

Catherine's eyes narrowed. "Tommy, what is it?"

He shook his head, attempting to brush off her interest despite secretly enjoying the attention. "Oh, you know—just a ship that I've commissioned to be built. She's in her early stages right now but, give or take a year, she'll be the most gorgeous vessel in the fleet."

"Are you going to captain her?"

"Unfortunately, no. As prince I'm ranked in the army, not navy. But she will be 'my ship' essentially." A proud beam appeared beneath his mustache as he added, "And she will be magnificent."

She laughed at his obvious delight. "Magnificent? And do you have a name for this 'magnificent ship' yet?"

"I'm thinking of one or two." Thomas's smile widened as they passed through an archway leading down to the docks. "Really, it doesn't matter at this point—she's only a month into her construction."

"Of course it matters. Names matter." Catherine said sternly.

"If you say so."

"Well, imagine if your name wasn't Thomas. Then who would you be?"

He smiled and then, after a moment's hesitation, his smile faltered. "I honestly don't know."

Catherine nodded, "Exactly."

The prince gave her a nod of begrudging agreement, and brought up the subject of his cousin again for the remainder of their trip down to the shipyard. They talked about the duchy of Livesley and what Frederick's duties there would entail. Catherine had only ever been to the city a handful of times in her life, so she was particularly interested. So involved was their conversation, neither one noticed the solemn greying of the sky nor saw that the clouds were beginning to slip lower and lower above their heads.

They arrived at the shipyard in a little under thirty minutes, having taken the long way around. Thomas, after a brief word with the yardmaster, led Catherine past a number of vessels sitting in various states of repair or manufacture. A few rested in the water, though most were sitting in dry docks awaiting their departure for the sea. There were carpenters and shipwrights working on two of the ships that afternoon, standing on planking and shuffling across the scaffolding. Their calls and occasional whistles hung out over the rest of the yard.

Catherine watched them as she passed by, impressed by their craftsmanship. Thomas walked a few steps ahead of her, checking the numbers posted beside each ship until he found his: number eleven.

"Aha. Here she is." He gestured at what appeared to be the very, very barest hint of a sailing vessel sitting in the last dry dock. The ribs of the structure had been crafted—curving out while a center beam rested at the bottom, connecting them all. Other than that and a few larger pieces spanning the sides, however, there was not much to the ship.

Catherine frowned at its fairly unimpressive appearance. "What kind of boat is it?"

Thomas, pacing the edge of the dry dock, corrected, "She is a ship, not a boat. Big enough to tow a boat—big enough to be a ship."

"Okay, what kind of 'ship' is she?" She asked, a bit miffed at his correction.

"She's a brig. She will have two square-rigged masts instead of the three you would see on a barque—we passed one of those." He indicated the nearest ship being worked on. "Brigs are smaller and generally faster than other ships. They serve very well as naval vessels, which is what she will be upon completion."

"Hard to imagine—she's not much more than a skeleton at the moment."

Thomas glanced over at her and grinned. "You're disappointed."

Catherine's eyes widened as she realized what she had just said. Immediately she started protesting, "No, it's a wonderful bo—ship! It—I mean—_she's_ just a tad-."

"I told you it's only been a month. And to be perfectly honest-," he shrugged, "-I can see how it would be difficult to envision."

She gave him a small smile, clearly not wanting to hurt his feelings.

Thomas laughed, "It's all right, Cat. I don't mind."

"But you were so excited and everything."

"I still am." He walked over to her, gently put his hands on her shoulders, and turned her so that she faced the ship. "Do me a favor and think, just for a minute, about what she'll look like once she's finished. See—there's the upper deck all polished and gleaming in the sunlight. The cabin is sitting snugly beneath the mainmast and the helm, with the tolling bell towards the center of the ship. And then, over there, the foremast, reaching up to the sky. Overhead there are white sails filled with a strong ocean wind, billowing out with the rigging tied neat and tight. Cannons, weaponry, and gunpowder are stored down below, along with the crew's barracks, a small galley, and supply rooms."

Catherine gazed at the brig, trying to see everything that he could see. It helped that he was so enthusiastic, and eventually she could make out some of what he was trying to get across. She smiled again, replying finally, "I do see it."

"Really?"

"Well—perhaps not all of it. But I'm sure that once your ship has been completed, she will be the finest ever to set sail."

Thomas grinned, and then hastily lifted his hands once he realized they were still on her shoulders. He clapped them awkwardly together, clearing his throat. "That's—that's very kind of you to say, Cat. I appreciate it."

"Good." She watched as he stepped around the edge of the dock, still looking at the beginnings of his ship. Just then, a drop of something wet and cold fell onto her head.

Catherine looked up at the cloudy sky, murmuring, "Oh no."

Thomas rubbed at his chin, whispering to himself: "And the stern will be here—and the bow over there—and the topsail here while the mainsails are over there…"

"Tommy? Tommy, it's starting to rain."

"And then, of course, we can't forget the yards which are exceptionally important because of the—"

"Tommy!"

"Yes?" He asked, wondering why she was calling his name.

"It's raining."

He turned to look at her, confused. "No it's not—the day is perfectly—" Water hit his nose, interrupting his response. His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Dear me, so it is."

"Brilliant, now the book's going to get wet," Catherine fussed, looking at her new book.

He squinted upward. "Nah. It's only a drizzle. Shouldn't last more than a few minutes."

"And if it lasts longer?"

"Then I will read the almanac every morning for the rest of my life," he said, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.

Clearly not amused, Catherine rolled her eyes and started for the entrance of the shipyard.

Thomas frowned, calling after her, "Wait! Where are you going?"

"To find shelter, I don't want to get soaked today!"

"Cat? Wait—" Thomas shot a glare up at the sky before jogging after his friend. He caught up with her near the gate of the yard, panting, "My word—you move fast. Listen, at least let me take you home."

Catherine shook her head, keeping her book tight against her front. "Home is several streets over and up. I don't think we'll make it in time."

"We can try."

She frowned at him, and Thomas removed his jacket. "Here—you can use that to cover up with."

Catherine's frown turned into a smile and she began to wrap the jacket about her book.

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing? That's supposed to be for you."

"And I'm using it for what I want," she retorted, neatly tucking the folds of the jacket. "I'll dry out—this book won't."

"It's just a book."

"It's a present from a friend. _And_ it's second edition."

He raised his hands in exasperation. "Fine. Do what you want. I still think you're being silly."

"Makes two of us. Come along—we can take the shortcut." She started down an alleyway.

Thomas followed after her, asking, "There's a shortcut?"

"There is if we reach the taxi coach office in time."

"Ah. Smart idea."

* * *

About ten minutes later the weather had worsened considerably. The rain had gotten stronger, the wind was blowing harder, and the sky had turned from blue to a depressing, dull white-grey. Stores were being closed against the downpour and any remaining booths in High Street were making themselves scarce.

Thomas and Catherine splashed through the river forming in the middle of the empty street. Both were thoroughly soaked, and now simply were getting wetter and colder. Catherine still had her book covered by the prince's jacket, but she was starting to shiver and began wondering if a second edition really was worth the trouble. Her poor book was probably getting damp despite her best attempts at protecting it.

Catherine heard some sloshing to her right and knew that the prince had just ascended to the sidewalk. She groaned inwardly, thinking about the pointlessness of their situation. They were as wet as could possibly be, so the taxi office would probably deny them a coach anyway. They should really just head back home. Oh! If only Isobel had not run off with her beau! If only she had met Catherine downtown as planned. Right now they could be sitting in some cozy café, sipping tea and laughing about their school days. But no, Isobel _had_ to go spend time with Prince Geoffery of Orae. And then she, Catherine, _had_ to go and run into Thomas and end up stuck in a rainstorm. Of all the miserable ways this day could go, this had to be among the worst.

Suddenly, she tripped and nearly fell to the ground. Thomas started forward to help, asking, "Cat, are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Fine." She got to her feet and began to brush uselessly at her skirt.

Thomas backed off slightly, surprised at the irritation in her voice. He raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"

Catherine stiffened, and she turned around, snapping, "Well, actually, no, Tommy, I'm not fine! Not in the least."

"What?"

"For goodness sake, look where we are."

Thomas glanced around. "I'd say we're in the middle of the street in a rainstorm."

"Exactly!" She threw up her arms in exasperation.

"My word, you look about as mad as," a wide grin crossed his face, and he finished, "as a wet Cat."

Catherine rolled her eyes and began to march forward again. "Ha ha, my sides are splitting."

Thomas chuckled, "Oh come on, you've got to admit that's funny."

"Hilarious. Can't breathe for laughing."

His smile faltered, and he apologized, "Okay, okay, I'm sorry."

"No. You're just like Isobel. She's probably off having a good laugh right now."

"Probably not," Thomas said, glancing up at the sky.

"We should cross the street—we can get to my house faster this way."

"What about the taxi office?"

Catherine shook her head. "There's no point anymore. Let's go, Tommy."

She started to cross the road, her head bowed against the storm.

"Cat? Cat, the office is just a minute away. Come back—" Thomas heard the grinding whirr of the wheels before he saw the coach. It was speeding down the street, horse hooves pounding the pavement as the heavy coach swung dangerously from side to side. And Catherine was walking right in its path...

He did not even think; he simply reacted.

Thomas rushed forward and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her towards himself as the coach charged past. The two fell against an abandoned farmer's stall and were splattered with the waves of mud and water spraying out in the taxi's wake.

After some blurred, confusing seconds, Catherine suddenly became aware of a heartbeat resonating next to her ear. She opened her eyes to find herself being held in the strong arms of the prince of Corona. Her face was pressed against his chest, and she realized, with some surprise, that she was shaking.

Thomas looked down at her, squinting through the rain as he asked, "Are you all right?"

Her mind was not working properly, and all she could manage was a faint, "Um, uh—yes. Okay."

"Cat?"

Still dazed, she set a hand against his chest, looking off in the direction the coach had gone. "Was that a—a taxi?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know they could go that fast."

"They're not supposed to. Certainly not in this weather."

The two looked back at each other, and at the exact same time came to the conclusion that they were in a bit of an awkward position. For a moment, neither one seemed to know what to do. They just stared at one another, faces mere inches apart. Then Thomas attempted to say something, nothing came out, and he let his arms drop and glanced again up the street. He suddenly asked, his voice louder than necessary, "Did you see that taxi?"

Catherine nodded uncertainly.

"You know, that thing nearly ran us over! And speeding down a public street like that without an ounce of decency! The nerve—I should do something about it."

"What?"

He pointed to the distant corner. "We're going to the taxi office. I want to lodge a complaint."

"Tommy, no, we're—where are you going?" Catherine asked helplessly as the man began to charge up the street.

"That kind of reckless driving will not be tolerated in my kingdom, no matter who's doing it! And we're getting a coach home, free of charge."

She tried to catch up to him, asking, "Can you do that?"

"Of course I can—I'm the prince."

* * *

Unfortunately, events did not turn out the way Thomas had expected. Among other things, the clerk at the ticket window of the taxi office did not believe them when they told him about the renegade coach. He did not believe Thomas was the prince of the country, either.

"Yes, and I'm the blooming Emperor of Auxuria. For the last time, we aren't offering free rides no matter who you claim to be." The man crossed his arms and puffed out his chest importantly.

Thomas glared at him, retorting, "Hang it all, I am the blasted prince! Look at my face!"

The clerk shook his head and began to suck his teeth. "No, I don't think I will."

"I could have your job."

"P'haw! Don't make me laugh."

Thomas groaned and closed his eyes, counting to ten. Eventually he opened them again and said quietly, "Look, you don't have to get a coach for me. But please, find some civility in your soul, if you have one, to give my friend a ride home."

He shook his head. "Nope. Against company policy."

"_Company policy_? For goodness sake, man, look at her! She's soaking wet and—and that's not how you're supposed to treat a lady!"

"Then you've got to come up with better wooing strategies, bub. 'S not my fault you're lousy."

Thomas gritted his teeth and said, "Just look at her."

The clerk rolled his eyes and did as asked, leaning out to watch Catherine pace the sidewalk a few feet down.

"Hmm." The clerk's eyebrows rose a few inches.

"Do you see what I'm talking about?"

A leer spread across the clerk's face. "Oh, I sure do. Pretty girl, she is. She's got a nice pair of curves there—a couple of lovely round—"

Thomas suddenly realized what the clerk was saying and grabbed him by his jacket collar. "What do you think you're doing, talking about her like that?"

"Hey that's a new coat!" the clerk yelped, trying to pry the prince's strong grip from his collar.

"She deserves respect, and dignity, and certainly none of your tawdry comments!" Thomas said, a blaze of righteous indignation rising within him.

The clerk snorted, "Please. As if you weren't looking at her too!"

"Looking at her—? I'd never! You poor excuse for a man, if you don't apologize right now—"

"Tommy, what on earth are you doing?"

Thomas froze, his mind registering what Catherine had just asked him. He looked at her, stammering, "I'm—I—I—just trying to tell this fellow to—" SLAM!

The clerk had somehow freed himself from Thomas's hold and shut the roll-down window on the prince's hands. Thomas yelled out in pain.

"Yowch! Blasted idiot shut it on my hands!"

Catherine frowned, asking, "Are you all right?"

"That's it," Thomas growled, glaring at the closed window. "I don't care how long it takes me I'm going to tear this building apart and wring his scrawny neck!"

She rolled her eyes. "Tommy, don't be stupid."

"I will. I promise you, I will," he told her, pounding on the door, clearly oblivious to what she had just said.

Catherine groaned and took his arm. "My word, give it up. Let's just go home, please? Now?"

"But—but the little—"

"You can slap a big fat fine on him later but just, right now, just leave it."

He gazed into her green eyes and saw how tired she was. Any lingering resistance he had left fell away. He bowed his head, murmuring, "All right."

"Come along. Home's not far." Still keeping her arm in his, Catherine began to lead him down the street towards her house.

* * *

They stepped up onto the porch and Catherine knocked on the door. Lady Marie opened it.

She looked at the two sodden, shivering, mud-spattered people dripping onto her doormat. "I was wondering when you would get back, Katie. I didn't think you'd be this wet, though. And Isobel," Lady Marie smiled, appraising the prince, "has changed quite a bit since last I saw her."

Thomas allowed a wry grin, and said, "Hello, Lady Marie."

"Good afternoon, dear."

"Mother can we come in? It's really cold out here." Catherine gazed longingly into the front hallway, hugging her jacket-covered book against herself.

Lady Marie shook her head, answering, "You two will have to go around and come in by the backdoor. I'm not having mud and water tracked all over my floor if I can help it."

Catherine frowned. "Mother, we—"

"Lady Marie, I really should just—" Thomas tried to reason.

"Nonsense. I'll be waiting for you in the kitchen." Without another word, Lady Marie shut the front door.

Catherine sighed and then looked at Thomas, suddenly noticing just how muddy he actually was. She shook her head and began to go down the stairs. "Come on, Tommy."

He frowned. "But I—Cat, I really should just go home."

She shot him a glare, asking, "Do you know how much trouble I'll be in if I let you go home? No, you're staying here. Now get a move on."

He hesitated, watching as she hiked up her skirt and began to go around the house. He then followed after her, saying grumpily, "You're bossy."

"No I'm not." She carefully sidestepped a puddle the size of a small pond.

"Yes you are," Thomas retorted, stamping right through the water, "you're a bossy, sarcastic girl who got me stuck in the rain."

She turned around so fast he nearly fell over. "And who was it that wanted to go look at his little boat, hmm?"

"It—it's a ship," Thomas mumbled.

Smirking, Catherine turned back and entered the open doorway of the kitchen. Thomas came in after her, and saw Lady Marie handing her daughter a few towels.

"There's a bath running upstairs for you, Katie dear," Lady Marie said, nodding to the makeshift carpeting of towels she had leading out into the hallway.

"Thank you, Mother." Catherine, now holding both the towels and her jacket-covered book, left the kitchen.

"There's another jacket she's run off with," Thomas muttered to himself, looking around as, unbeknownst to him, Lady Marie studied his muddied face and feet.

"Thomas dear," Lady Marie said finally.

"Yes, ma'am?"

She nodded at the counter. "You can wash your hands at the sink and do try to get some of the mud off the rest of you as well."

Thomas smiled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Um, Lady Marie, I was just going to head back to the palace and—"

"I'm not sending you back to Caroline looking like that. She'd scold me silly."

"But I—"

"I'm sure we have something upstairs for you." She glanced upward, almost as if she was mentally sorting out the options.

Thomas replied, "That—that's very kind of you but I don't think any of Lord Brian's clothes will fit me."

Lady Marie laughed at the thought. "Oh no, Brian's a shorty. No, I've got something that's just your size."

He swallowed. "Right."

"You can change in here. Put your wet things into that tub by the door and use these towels and blanket to cover up with." She patted the bundle of fabric sitting on the table.

Thomas coughed in surprise, asking, "You want me to change in here?"

"Yes, and don't get any rainwater in my soup or you'll be in a load of trouble." Lady Marie started for the door, her hand on the knob.

"But—Lady Marie, I don't think—"

She smiled at him, already pulling the door shut. "Three knocks it's me, okay? And hurry up, dear, you're going to catch a cold if you stand around in those clothes much longer."

The door closed behind her, leaving Thomas standing, still dripping, in the middle of Lord Brian's kitchen. He looked again at the pile of towels waiting him, and then at the washtub near the door. He highly doubted he could leave now. For all he knew, Lady Marie would hunt him down in the rainstorm and drag him back to the house.

He walked forward and rather pointedly locked the kitchen and dining room doors. Then, upon looking up, he realized that the windows above the sink provided a nice view into the next-door neighbor's own kitchen. Squinting through the glass, Thomas saw the Marigold sisters having tea at their table. He tugged the curtains shut before they could notice him and, feeling uncomfortably exposed, began to undress.

Some minutes later, Thomas was trying to pull the blanket over his shoulders.

"Confound it… this is the smallest blanket in the world." He attempted to tug it below his knees, but that only made it slip lower down his chest.

Muttering a few words that princes probably should not know, he tried again to wrap himself up in the blanket, and finally managed some semblance of modesty. Thomas straightened, taking a deep breath, and discovered he was inhaling an absolutely delicious scent.

He turned around to see a large pot of soup bubbling and steaming in the kitchen hearth. It was a lovely color. A nice, deep orange, with chunks of fat carrots and healthy potatoes and bits of beef and greens and there must have been some bread in the oven because he could smell its accompanying aroma and oh what he would give…

Before he knew it, Thomas had waddled his way over to the fire and was sniffing deeply, all thoughts fleeing from his mind save those driven by his empty stomach.

He cleared his throat, whispering tenderly, "Oh, hello there, you beautiful creation. Listen, I know we haven't known each other for long but I can't help myself. Will you please do me the utmost honor of being my soup?"

Some more bubbles rose over the surface. That had to be a yes.

"Now, I'm not entirely sure if these are the exact size but—"

Thomas jumped back in surprise, instinctively pulling the blanket tighter about himself and nearly losing it and his footing in the process. For a number of seconds, Lady Marie watched as her future sovereign attempted to look dignified while simultaneously regaining his balance and trying to keep covered up with a blanket that was just a little too small. But then the prince stood straight, keeping a firm grasp on his mantle while his large shoulders stubbornly stuck out above the cloth.

Lady Marie rolled her eyes, fighting to keep a smirk off her face. "I didn't see anything. Honestly."

He assumed a look of curious unconcern, muttering, "I—I thought you were going to knock."

"I did knock, dear. Three times." Lady Marie carried some folded clothes over to the table.

"Oh."

"You're getting rainwater in my soup, aren't you?"

He shook his head firmly, stepping away from the fire. "No. No ma'am, I am not."

"Indeed. Now, come over here and tell me if this will fit you."

Sheepishly, Thomas trotted over and allowed Lady Marie to hold the shirt up to his chest, checking the size.

She smiled at her success. "Yes, these will do quite nicely. I'm afraid they're only old cow-herder clothes, so you might look like a farmer, but it's better than just your skin."

Thomas cleared his throat, replying, "Yes, quite."

"All right, I'll leave you to it." She left the kitchen.

The prince frowned, studying his new outfit. It was simple, a grey shirt with dark trousers, both of a coarser material than he was used to, but it would do. He began to remove his blanket when the door opened again and he clutched at the fabric, turning around.

Lady Marie smiled. "Sorry, dear. Just one more thing."

Thomas sighed, pleading, "Lady Marie, will you please stop doing that."

"I just wanted to let you know, this door doesn't lock."

"Obviously not," he said a tad snappishly.

Smiling in a way that was infuriatingly reminiscent of her daughter, Lady Marie shut the door. Thomas then took hold of a chair and dragged it over to sit beneath the doorknob, preventing its being opened again.

* * *

In the upstairs bathroom, Catherine was soaking languorously in the warm water of the tub, unconscious to the plight of the prince. It felt so good to be out of the freezing rain and mud. To be away from the dark corners and dangers of the street…

Abruptly, a coach smashed into her thoughts, and she jolted up from her doze. Water splashed onto the tiles. Catherine shook her head. It would be a long time before she forgot the sight of those horses bearing down upon her, puffing out clouds as their hooves tore across the pavement. An involuntary shudder ran up her spine, and she thanked High Heaven for Thomas's quick action. She would have been dead or at least gravely injured if it had not been for him. And he had been so kind about it too, making sure she was all right, threatening to go tear down the taxi office for her. Of course, perhaps his intentions of strangling the clerk were not terribly kind, but the motive behind it was nice.

Catherine smiled, thinking about the way the man had appeared in the storm. He had looked so silly with his damp hair and beard, and his clothes all wet and—and sticking to his body.

She straightened in the tub, staring at the far wall but not really seeing it.

His tall form standing impressively against the backdrop of rain. His strong figure—the distinct contours of his chest so apparent beneath his wet shirt. She could remember feeling those muscles when he was holding her in the street, sensing every breath that passed through him. The security of his arms and how his hands had pressed against her back. She had always known he was handsome and well built, but this line of thinking was unexpected. Her friend Isobel would have termed him 'hunky'. Eira Lynn would have said something much less innocent.

There was a knock at the door, wrenching her from her thoughts.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice slightly higher than normal.

"Are you almost done?" Lady Marie asked.

"Um, well—uh, not yet," Catherine got out of the tub. "Why?"

"Thomas will be needing someone to talk to—" there was a squeal from inside the bathroom.

"Katie?"

"I slipped, what—what were you saying?"

Lady Marie continued uncertainly, "He will be needing someone to talk to after he's finished getting dressed. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine. There's just, um, a lot of water…" Catherine knelt and attempted to wipe up the puddles on the floor.

"Are you making a mess in there?"

"No, Mother, it's fine. Now what where you saying about Tommy getting dressed—_what_?"

"You didn't think I'd send him home, did you? He's in the kitchen. I brought him some of the old cow-herder clothes Mrs. Mac gave me for that charity event."

Catherine's eyes widened, and she asked, "Mother you have—you have the prince of the country stripping off in our kitchen?" Once again she was treated to memories of that moment in the rain, and she shook her head sternly to dislodge them.

"I didn't have much of a choice," Lady Marie replied.

"But he's the _prince_," Catherine protested, taking a seat on the edge of the bath.

"Oh, please, Katie. He's just a man like any other man and he needed some dry clothes. Anyway, come downstairs soon." Her mother's footsteps faded off down the hallway.

Catherine sighed, nervously brushing her wet hair back from her face. Who would have thought? She was friends with a gorgeous man and she had not even realized it until this moment! How was that possible? How had she not seen this before?

"But he's just _Tommy_," she muttered, reaching over to pull the plug from the tub's drain. "He's just your friend. Sure, he's royalty. Sure, he's had military training by the best generals in the kingdom, but he's always been just—" Catherine thought about all she had heard about the prince. About how rich, powerful, and handsome he was supposed to have been. All of the girls at the matchmaking had seemed so enthralled at the idea of being married to the man.

"I guess they can't all be after him just for his money," she said finally, wrapping her bathrobe around her shoulders for the trip to her room.

She exited the bathroom and crossed an empty hallway. Her sisters had probably gotten in trouble while she was downtown and were now staying in their rooms as punishment. It was amazing they were still quiet.

Catherine chose a plain blue dress and attempted to comb the tangles out of her hair. Her eyes fell on her sodden copy of _St. Baskin's Account of the Hierarchy_ resting on its towel. She picked it up, frowning at its miserable state. It might dry out next to the fire, but even then she was not sure she could save it.

"The ink's probably run all over the pages," Catherine said, tucking the book under her arm and heading for the stairs. After depositing _St. Baskin's_ down by the sitting room fire, the girl made her way towards the kitchen, a bit hesitant at what she might find. After all, was she going to see him differently now that she knew she found him slightly more attractive than average? But, thank goodness, she found Thomas sitting at the table, fiddling with the wrist of his shirtsleeve and looking as normal as ever.

"Hello." Catherine smiled, noticing the wrinkle on his forehead. "Everything all right?"

"Well, mostly. Your mother lent me some clothes but," he held up his arm, pointing at the cuff, "I'm missing a button."

"And that's disturbing to you for some reason?"

He shrugged. "I'm not used to having clothes missing buttons. It's a peculiar feeling."

"Okay then. I'll get my sewing case and fix that for you."

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now." She left the kitchen and returned a few seconds later with her sewing kit. She sat down on the other side of the table, opening the kit. "Give me your hand."

Thomas did as asked, apprehensive as she withdrew two needles, spool of thread, and a single button. Catherine checked the size of the button with its respective hole and, satisfied, unrolled a length of thread from the spool.

"Are you sure you're not going to nick me with those?" Thomas asked, eyeing the needles.

"I promise I will not draw any blue blood." Catherine bit off the thread from the rest of the spool and slipped its end into a needle. She then set to work, all the while being watched by an anxious Thomas.

Several seconds went by before Catherine murmured, "You know, every time you flinch you increase the chances of getting pricked."

"I'm not flinching," Thomas said, flinching again.

"Of course you are. Now hold," she set the heel of her left hand upon his wrist, "still."  
He continued to watch her before asking, "You do this often, then? Repairing men's shirtsleeves."

"When the occasion calls for it."

"How long does it take?"

"Not long."

"Right." Thomas's stomach led out an audible rumble.

Catherine glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. "Hungry are you?"

"I haven't eaten anything since that meeting at the guardhouse," he said.

Catherine grinned, sliding the needle in and out. "Give me another minute and I should be finished."

"Won't the soup get cold?" Thomas asked, casting a longing look to the pot still sitting in the hearth.

"Nope."

"How do you know?"

"Because my mother made it. And she," Catherine pulled the thread taut, "never makes mistakes when cooking."

"I remember my mother saying that ladies seldom make mistakes about anything."

Catherine cut off the remainder of the thread, replying, "Yes, well, I'm sure she knows that's not entirely true. All people make mistakes sometime."

"Like crossing the street without looking where they are going," he said without thinking.

Catherine looked at him.

He winced. "Sorry. That was uncalled for."

"No, you were right. I should've been looking." She started, almost absent-mindedly, to button up his sleeve for him.

Thomas nodded, responding, "Yes, you should have been, but I still didn't have to—"

"I never thanked you, did I?" she asked, interrupting him.

"What?"

"For saving me. Out in the rain and with the coach—I never thanked you."

Thomas gazed at her, the expression on his face surprisingly gentle. "You don't have to thank me."

"I want to."

He smiled, and then glanced down at their hands. "Can I have my hand back?"

"You—oh, I'm sorry." Catherine removed her hand from around his. "Yes, um, you're done now."

"Yep."

"I'll just go get you some soup then." The girl stood and went over to the counter, rising on tiptoe to open a cabinet for dishes. She started humming, and Thomas recognized the tune as one belonging to an old Midlander song. He did not know the words but, for some reason, her voice sounded really pretty. _She_ was really pretty, in all honesty. Apparently her long hair turned wavy when wet, because he had never seen it curl like that before.

Thomas looked down and saw that she was barefoot. His eyes gradually began to slide up from her toes to study the fine curves of her calves. Curiosity caused his focus to move a little further for the perusal of more… _interesting_ areas. He tilted his head slightly.

He now understood what that grubby taxi clerk had been talking about.

There may have been a small part of his mind, probably instilled there by his mother, which disapproved of what he was doing. However, its prudish commands were soon drowned out by sheer force of God-given desire. Catherine, as a young woman, was attractive to him, and Thomas, as a young man, started to greatly admire those many, lovely, female attributes.

Naturally, it was around this time that her father reached the kitchen doorway.

Lord Brian smirked, finding the sight of the prince in peasant-wear rather amusing. It was not everyday a man got to see royalty dressed up as a farmer. But Lord Brian's smirk quickly melted into a stern glare when he saw the way the prince was watching his daughter. He did not like the way the young fellow's eyes were following her back to the hearth after she had set a bowl of soup on the table. No. He did not like it at all. That sort of nonsense would not be tolerated in his house no matter who the perpetrator might be.

Lord Brian walked over to the table and asked casually, "Looks good, doesn't it, Thomas?"

Thomas, his mind quite elsewhere, grinned. "Why yes sir, she does indeed look—I—I mean, the soup feels—looks—smells wonderful!" He quickly stared into the bowl in front of him.

"Yes it does." Lord Brian slapped a friendly hand onto the prince's shoulder and squeezed just ever so carefully.

Thomas had to bite his tongue to keep himself from yelping out loud. A muffled grunt of pain escaped him, however, and Catherine looked around.

"Daddy?"

"Hello, Katie dear," Lord Brian said brightly, tapping Thomas's shoulder, "just talking to Thomas."

His daughter smiled, asking, "Would you like some soup?"

"Yes, please, if you do not mind."

Catherine went to fetch another bowl, and Lord Brian said, "Nice of you to drop by, Thomas."

"Ah-hmm."

"Oh, and by the way," Lord Brian leaned down to whisper in Thomas's ear, "I know I have pretty daughters—I mean, let's face it, they take after their mother—but I also know that sometimes young men have roving eyes and if you want to keep those eyes in your head stop admiring my daughter and instead focus on the less tempting qualities of your soup." He said all this very fast, each word accompanied by an increase of pressure on Thomas's shoulder.

"Yes sir," Thomas agreed, certain he could feel a bruise forming.

"Good boy." Lord Brian patted the prince's shoulder, adding a bit of smack into the patting just to ensure his point got across.

Catherine walked over, holding out a bowl. "Daddy, here's your soup."

"Thank you my lovely girl." Lord Brian accepted the bowl and gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek. "You know, I absolutely adore you." He smiled at Thomas, who was now resolutely staring at his food.

Catherine laughed, replying, "Daddy, please. You're just saying that because you want another piece of bread."

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not, but it doesn't really matter. I will see you later tonight, Katie." Lord Brian made his way to the door, but stopped to add, "Good day, Thomas."

"Sir," Thomas said, not trusting himself to look up even after the man had long gone.

Catherine walked over to the table and slowly inched a spoon into the prince's sight. "Is there a reason you're looking at your soup with such concern?"

"I'm just—particularly hungry today." Thomas answered.

"Okay…" She raised her eyebrows, asking, "Are you getting too hot? Your ears have gone red."

"Have they?" He reached up to grab one, knowing full well what had caused it.

"Do you want to go to the sitting room instead of here? It's much more comfortable."

"Yes, I think that would be good." He waited until after Catherine had started for the hall before rising to his feet and picking up his own soup bowl.

He entered the sitting room to see a fire glowing under the mantle and Catherine setting her soup onto the coffee table. Something at the edge of the fireplace caught his eye, and he discovered that the book he had bought was resting, its pages facing up, in an attempt to dry them. This sight gave him an idea, and after putting his own bowl down, Thomas returned to the kitchen to fetch his stockings. He fetched them and returned, a satisfied smile on his face as he draped them over the fireguard and stepped back to take in the view.

"Wet socks?" Catherine asked, taking a seat on the sofa.

Thomas glanced back at her. "Yes, and if you don't mind, I'd like to dry them a bit before going home."

"I don't mind," she said, smiling.

Thomas took a seat next to her and began to eat his soup, relishing the warm feeling that began to fill his stomach. Everything tasted amazing—something he had come to expect from this family—and through his hunger he largely forgot about Lord Brian's threats in the kitchen. He was able to look at Catherine again without fear of going blind, which, of course, made conversation much easier.

They had nearly finished their soup when Thomas spotted a box chessboard resting on the bottom shelf of one of the bookcases. He smiled, pointing at it. "Look at that. I haven't played in ages."

"What?" She followed his hand, frowning. "Oh, that's Daddy's old chessboard."

"Would he let us use it?" Thomas asked, going over to get the board.

"Probably," Catherine replied, setting her bowl down, "although I never actually learned how to play."

Thomas's eyes widened, and he asked incredulously, "You don't know how to play chess?"

"No, should I?"

"It's a life skill," he said seriously.

Catherine's lips curled into a smirk. "According to who?"

"My grandfather. His name was Thomas as well and he was a very wise man."

"Why did they name you after him, then?"

He made a face at her. "Ha ha. Anyway, you must learn how to play chess. I'll teach you."

"Really?"

He nodded, placing the board onto the coffee table. "Yes. Chess is important, Cat. It teaches you about strategy and thinking and since you're already very smart it's a shame you don't know how to play."

Catherine sighed, responding, "All right, 'O Great One'. Teach me."

"If you insist."

"I think you're the one doing the insisting here. The pieces are in its drawer."

Thomas pulled the small drawer out from the stage of the board. "Now how would you know that if you can't play?"

"When Lizzie and I were really young we used to play with the pieces—setting up weddings and schools with them. I think one time we even had little town."

Thomas smiled.

"We were only five or six," Catherine said defensively.

"I can't imagine what you were like when you were five."

"Quiet and bossy, Lizzie says. I really haven't changed much between now and then."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Thomas said, feeling his ears going red again. He cleared his throat, "Anyway, first we need to set up the board and explain what everything is and how it moves. So, watch what I do, and set up the white pieces the same way."

Thomas placed all the black pieces upon the chessboard, and Catherine did the same on the other side. Then the prince picked up the tallest statuette, tapping the little crown atop its head. "This is the king. The king's protection is the goal of the game and it can move only one square in any direction. It's normally the weakest of all the pieces until the end of the game when it can castle."

"'Castle'?"

"It's a term I'll explain later. Now, next is the queen." He indicated the piece beside the king. "It is the most powerful piece on the board and can move in any number of squares in any direction."

"How come the queen's more powerful than the king?"

"Because that's how it is in real life."

"Really?" Catherine laughed.

Thomas shrugged, his face slightly rueful. "So I am told by both my mother and my father."

"And what's the funny-shaped one next to them?" she asked, still grinning.

"Bishops. They can move diagonally along any number of squares."

Catherine picked up another piece. "The horses?"

"Knights. They move in a L-shaped pattern and are able to leap over other pieces. Like so." He moved the knight to demonstrate.

"All right. And the little ones in front?"

"Pawns. Essentially they are the infantrymen and move either forward one space, or forward one space diagonal. Or, the first time you move them, they can go two spaces forward."

"Foot soldiers do most of the groundwork, then?" Catherine asked.

"They are very useful, yes," Thomas said, glancing at the board. "Oh, nearly forgot, this is the rook and can go any number of spaces vertically or horizontally."

She frowned, remarking, "It looks like a castle."

Thomas turned it in his hand, saying, "Technically, it looks like a keep. But it is called a 'rook'."

"Why don't you just call it a castle?"

"Because it's a rook," Thomas answered simply.

"A rook's a type of bird," she pointed out.

Thomas set his teeth, assenting, "Yes, but it is also the name of this chess piece."

"What if I call it a castle?"

"Then you're calling it the wrong name and I'm not going to teach you how to play anymore." Thomas gazed at her, suddenly spying laughter in the girl's green eyes. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Catherine shook her head sarcastically. "_No_, I'd never. It's far too much fun and you know how I hate to tease you."

"I'm starting to think it's one of your chief joys in life."

She smiled, resting her face in her hands and looking so adorable Thomas largely forgot what he was talking about. In fact, it was a moment before Catherine had to ask, "Are you going to teach me how to play or are you actually upset with me?"

"What? No. I—yes I'll get on that." Thomas took a seat down next to the coffee table and positioned the board between himself and Catherine. Then he gestured to her side. "White goes first."

"What do I do?"

"Move a pawn, anywhere you like."

Catherine narrowed her eyes. "How do I know if I'm doing the right thing or not?"

He shook his head, saying, "You don't. That's the best way to learn. Failure, and then you gain knowledge and practice and do better the next time around."

"Oh yes, that sounds like fun."

"Go ahead and move or you'll never start learning."

Catherine chose a pawn and moved it forward a square.

"Hmm." Thomas rubbed at his whiskers.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just an interesting move."

She snorted in exasperation. "I can't believe you're already analyzing."

"That's what you do in chess—you study, _everything_."

"You take this far too seriously."

He waved his hand at her, muttering, "Shhh. I'm thinking."

It was not long before Thomas was playing the chess game by himself. What with Catherine's persistence in calling the 'rook' a 'castle', her indifference, his heightened sense of superiority, and the fact that the rain was making it very hard to stay awake, Catherine was soon reclining on the sofa and watching Thomas nudge pieces across the board and whispering to himself. It was, somehow, an endearing if not a fairly hopeless method of teaching. First it had been 'learn from what I do', but now it morphed into 'let me see if I can beat myself'. Stomach full and with Thomas's quiet voice in the background, Catherine eventually fell asleep.

"And if you've managed to corner the king like so," Thomas said, scooting a rook down three squares, "and the king has no where else to go—you've got checkmate."

He looked up, smiling, and found that his friend was peacefully unaware of what he had just said.

Thomas straightened. "Oh. Erm, Cat?"

Catherine stirred but did not wake. The prince paused, and then set about gathering up the chess pieces and packing them back into the board's drawer. He had gotten all but one…

Thomas looked over at Catherine and saw that she was holding one of his black rooks loosely in her hand. He gingerly reached over and slipped it out from her fingers, saying softly, "It's a rook."

She did not respond and, feeling as if he had won something, Thomas finished packing up the chessboard and put it back on the bookshelf. Then he pulled on his slightly less-damp stockings, picked up the empty soup bowls, and headed for the kitchen.

Lady Marie was at the sink washing dishes while Jane dried them. They looked up when Thomas entered.

"Um, we've finished," Thomas said, holding up the bowls.

"And it's finished raining." Lady Marie nodded to the window, through which the evening sun was radiating a pinkish glow. "Your mother will be waiting for you."

"Yes ma'am." The prince set the bowls onto the counter and went over to pull his boots on. They, unfortunately, had not dried out terribly well and made an audible squelching noise once he shoved his feet into them.

Jane giggled, and then hid her face behind the plate she was drying.

"Jane dear, finish up in here while I show Thomas out." Lady Marie allowed her daughter to take her place at the sink before following Thomas out into the hallway.

"Where's Katie?" she asked, trying to ignore the trail of wet boot prints appearing on her rug.

"She, uh, fell asleep."

Lady Marie looked at him, confused.

Thomas gave a wry smile, admitting, "I was trying to teach her how to play chess and I think I might've bored her a bit."

"That's all right. As long as you had fun."

"_I_ had fun. I don't know if she did."

"She probably did." They stopped at the front door, and Lady Marie smiled up at him. "Thank you for walking Katie home. It was really sweet of you."

"It was my pleasure, Lady Marie."

She smiled, commenting, "Your mother raised you well."

"Yes ma'am."

"Have a good evening, Thomas. Come over when you can."

He made a polite bow and opened the door, walking out into the cool air.

* * *

Thomas entered his bedchamber and took a seat on one of the armchairs, moaning. He would probably need to call Ferdinand and get some ice for his shoulder. Whatever that overprotective milk-lord had done clearly damaged several important muscles. Not to mention getting his hand shut in the window by the taxi clerk _and_ falling against that farm cart in the street. All other things considered, it had been a very interesting day…

The prince frowned, suddenly realizing that he could hear singing. Familiar singing by a voice that was far from being spectacularly well-tuned…

"_There's beautiful gals here, oh never you mind, with beautiful shapes nature never designed…_ something about roses and cream… and waiting for that wild rose 'cause she'd smack me upside the—blast it I dropped my razor!"

Thomas got to his feet and looked into his bathroom to find that his cousin had come back early. Frederick was standing before the mirror, somehow shaving off a mustache and singing at the same time.

"You weren't supposed to get back until Friday," Thomas declared, amazed at the sight.

Frederick dropped the razor again, startled. He turned to his cousin, eyes widening as he asked, "Wot in the name of jolly pumpkins are you wearing?"

"I—what are you doing here?" Thomas asked, coming into the bathroom.

"Da told me to scoot back early as he was tired of having me around. So, fashion's changed since I've left, eh? Peasant-chic's the new trend?" Frederick picked up his razor, murmuring, "I've got to start tearing holes and sewing patches in me trousers."

Thomas shook his head distractedly, replying, "No, I was just visiting Cat and her mother—it rained and so—it's a long story."

Frederick finished removing his mustache, asking, "Still seeing Kitty-cat then?"

"Yes, well—not—not exactly." Thomas shook his head again. "Why are you using _my_ bathroom anyway?"

"Don't like the wallpaper in mine."

"But you are going to stay in your room, right? Not mine?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Thomas growled, "Freddy!"

"Relax, Goliath, I'm kidding. My word, you've must have had a rough day."

"No, it was fine."

Frederick rubbed his face down with a wet towel, asking, "And the rest of the time? Wot happened while I was away?"

Thomas shrugged, replying, "Well, nothing—" a sudden onslaught of memories crashed into his mind, bringing with them all the times he had talked with Catherine—all the times he had watched her. He remembered sitting by the kitchen fire with her, scaring her sisters, taking on that stupid bat… her warm hands cradling his face, talking softly under the shade of apple trees… meeting her downtown, running together through the streets in the rainstorm, pulling her out of the way of the speeding taxi, and the list went on and on... "Nothing happened."

Frederick stared at his cousin, seeing the conflicting emotions passing over the other man's face. Finally he crossed his arms, responding, "Tom, you don't have to tell me anything, but don't lie to me."

"I'm not," Thomas said, not sure he even believed himself.

"'Course you're not." Frederick tossed his towel over his shoulder and started for the door. "I'm off to chase down a sandwich. Would you like one?"

"No, I've already eaten."

"Righto. See you later."

Thomas returned to his armchair as his cousin left the room. He kicked off his boots and, after a long moment, called for Ferdinand to bring him some ice.


	18. Curtains

**Author Note**: So, not much to say about this one except... the next one's going to be even more exciting! :D Thank you all so much for reading, faving, following, and reviewing! Particularly those of you who say this would make a nice screenplay/stand-alone-story :D that was really nice of you and made me very happy! :D Hope you enjoy this chapter and that you all are having a fantastic summer! Be safe and wear sunscreen! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story. Lucas Arts (now also Disney) owns The Cusre of Monkey Island and are responsible for an outrageous number of funny quotes :D

* * *

It was Wednesday, and the prince of Corona was in his office, currently engaged in 'discussions' with the future duke of Livesley.

"Gerroff me, Goliath!"

"Never—not until," Thomas adjusted his hold on his cousin, huffing, "you admit you cheated!"

"I didn't cheat!" Frederick pitched backwards, knocking Thomas over and further scattering little metal figurines over the carpet.

Before Thomas could get up, his cousin was on top of him, pounding (and often missing) every inch he could find. With a loud grunt, the bigger man rolled and got a hold of Frederick's left arm, tugging upward. Frederick yelped in pain and landed an elbow into his cousin's stomach, freeing his arm so he could dive for the gameboard sitting on the floor.

Frederick picked up a piece and jammed it down onto the board, howling victoriously, "Ha! My infantrymen have your general surrounded! There's no way you can—argh!"

Thomas had collided into him, knocking Frederick onto the floor once more and locking his arms about his chest. Frederick squirmed so that he was facing his cousin and dodged a quick punch.

He then seized hold of the man's collar, yelling, "You fight like a dairy farmer!"

"How appropriate," Thomas retorted, "you fight like a cow!"

"That's not nice!" Frederick replied, supremely insulted even as his cousin got him into a headlock.

Suddenly, the door opened, and both men heard a familiar voice say, "Thank you so much, Ferdinand, I really appreciate your coming up with—"

Catherine broke off at the sight of the two men fighting amidst the ruins of a strategy board game.

"You have a visitor, your Highness," Thomas's manservant said as he grinned around an armful of purple fabric.

"Cat?" Thomas asked, still holding his cousin in a headlock.

She smiled uncertainly. "Hello, Tommy."

"What," he let his cousin fall to the floor with an 'oof' and hastily got to his feet, "what are you doing here?"

"Well, I was—," Catherine frowned, noticing the wheezing sounds Frederick was making. She leaned down and asked, "Freddy, are you all right?"

The man winced, replying, "Peachy, Kitty-cat. Nice to see you again."

"Good to see you too. Um, what happened here?" Catherine asked, glancing around at the discarded metal soldiers and the piles of unread reports sitting on the prince's desk.

"We were just," Thomas began, quickly straightening his vest, "discussing some—erm—some business." He nodded, adding, "You, know—business propositions and boring, political stuff—why are you here, again?"

She indicated the bundles Ferdinand was holding. "I've come to put up the new curtains."

Frederick sat up, asking brightly, "Ah, setting up house already? Ouch!" His cousin had kicked him.

Pretending he had not just kicked his cousin, Thomas asked, "New curtains?"

"You told me I could," Catherine replied, neatly stepping over Frederick to walk over to the windows.

The prince scratched the back of his neck, forehead wrinkling. "Uh, I did?"

She glanced back at him, nodding. "Yes, out in the orchard. And then again when we met downtown last week."

"I don't remember…" Thomas watched as Ferdinand purposely strode past him and dumped the mass of fabric onto the sofa.

"Anything else, m'lady?" the manservant asked, turning to Catherine.

She smiled. "No thank you, Ferdinand. You were a lot of help, though, and it was nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Catherine." Ferdinand bowed and, still smirking, exited the office.

Thomas made a mental note to dock the man's salary. Then he noticed that Catherine was dragging a chair over to the window. She removed her shoes and rose to stand on the chair cushion, reaching up to undo the ties keeping the curtains up.

"Are you really going to do this now?" Thomas asked, walking over as, behind him, Frederick started to gather up the game pieces.

"Yes, why not?"

Thomas looked at his desk, muttering, "Well, it's just—I'm in the middle of a meeting."

"Oh, _yes_, I can see that." Catherine succeeded in undoing one tie and started to do another, adding, "Freddy was winning, by the way."

"He was not," Thomas said, frowning.

"Actually, Goliath, I most certainly was." Frederick came up beside him, the box of game pieces tucked beneath his left arm.

"Only because you cheated. And I had you in a headlock, remember?"

His cousin rolled his eyes, snorting. "Go on and get to work. Uncle Will told you to finish those reports before tonight's dinner with Duke Lawrence."

"I'll get to them later," the prince said.

Catherine shook her head, fighting with the curtain ties. "Tommy, you really should get to work."

"Yes, _Tommy_," his cousin said, grinning at Thomas, "you should get to work."

Thomas pointed at Frederick. "You, shut up. And you," he looked up at Catherine, asking, "please be careful."

"I'm not going to hurt your curtains," she said.

"I wasn't talking about the curtains."

"Hmm?"

Thomas shook his head and went over to his desk. "Never mind. I'm getting to work."

"Freddy, could you help me with this?" Catherine asked as the first curtain dropped into her arms. "It's awful heavy."

Frederick set down his box and trotted over. "All right, Kitty-cat. Just let her down slow—umph!"

"Are you okay?"

"'m fine." Frederick stuck his head out from the bundle of drapery.

"Good. Please fold that and put it down somewhere and then get me one of those purple ones on the sofa."

"Righto. Just let this dusty thing on the floor and fetch a new purplely one." Frederick let out a cough, remarking, "Really, Goliath, you should get the maids in here to dust more."

"I don't like them coming in. They always want to rearrange my desk," Thomas murmured, studying the paper in front of him.

"If you kept it tidy they probably wouldn't want to rearrange it," Catherine pointed out.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at her, responding, "My desk has an order about it. Just because no one else understands it doesn't mean it's messy."

She folded her arms. "You've got two empty cups and at least three broken quills on there."

"You're already stringing up new curtains, Cat. Please finish one project before you start on another or I'll never get any work done."

"Is that an invitation to do more projects?"

"No, it's a request."

"I'm only teasing." She smiled, turning to face the window again. "My word, it's a beautiful day. Sunshine on the ocean, ships in the harbor—it's absolutely gorgeous."

Thomas had to agree, although he was admiring quite a different scene entirely.

"So, Kitty-cat, I've got…" Frederick broke off upon seeing that Catherine was looking out the window, and his cousin was looking at Catherine. Really, it was the _way_ that Thomas was looking at Catherine that caught Frederick's attention. Oh yes, a whole lot of 'nothing' was going on over there. And he—did the man really think he was not being obvious?

Frederick cleared his throat, keeping a careful eye on Thomas. "Ahem. Kitty-cat?"

Catherine turned around and, just as casually, the prince turned back to his work. "Yes, Freddy?"

Frederick's eyes narrowed as he asked, "Which of these purplely curtains did you want?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Gotcha." Frederick came towards her and, accidentally-on-purpose, knocked a few reports off his cousin's desk.

"_Freddy_."

"Sorry, Goliath. Didn't know you were still working."

"Of course I'm working," Thomas snapped, bending down to retrieve his papers.

"Then keep your eyes on your reports," his cousin hissed.

Thomas banged his head on the underside of his desk.

"What was that?" Catherine asked, pausing in her fastening.

"Nothing, Kitty-cat. One of the servants must've dropped something."

"Hmm." She continued to tighten the ribbons.

"So," Frederick began, "was there another reason you decided to visit or did you just want to fix this royal disaster of an office?"

"Actually," Catherine said, straightening the new curtain, "I did have a question for you two."

"She has a question for us, Goliath, isn't that lovely?"

"Yes, very," Thomas replied, rubbing the top of his head.

Catherine started to undo the other curtain. "My sister is coming to town tomorrow for a visit. She'll be here around noon and I wanted to know if you two would like to join the family for lunch?"

"Which sister?" Frederick asked quickly.

"Lizzie. She was the one who married George of Dean—you came to her wedding."

Frederick nodded. "Oh, right—her."

Thomas looked at him, remarking, "There's no need to be disappointed."

"I'm not disappointed. Kitty-cat, wot are we eating?"

"Sandwiches, salads, crisps—it's not a big affair," Catherine answered, dropping down the curtain for Frederick to catch.

"Then why do you sound so happy about it?" Thomas asked as Frederick gave Catherine another purple drape.

She grinned, standing on tiptoe to start her fastening once more. "This will be the first time I've seen Lizzie since she ran off on her honeymoon. I'm so excited—I've got loads to tell her and letters just won't do."

A smile appeared under his mustache and he said, "Well, I am very happy for you. And yes, we will be there a little after twelve tomorrow."

"Wot about that meeting with the Baron of Chantill?" Frederick asked.

Thomas waved his hand. "We can move it."

"I don't know, Goliath, I'm not sure if your da will—"

"You have a meeting?" Catherine asked, tightening the chords on the new curtain.

Thomas shuffled through another report, saying, "It's only a minor one that can be rescheduled, don't worry."

"I'm not worried but I want to make sure I'm not pulling you away from anything you need to attend to." She finished tying the curtain and stepped back to view her handiwork.

"I promise I will have a clear day for tomorrow," Thomas said, picking up his quill.

"Great. I'll tell my parents you're coming. And—" she eyed the reports on the prince's desk, pursing her lips.

He frowned. "What? What is it?"

"I'd better leave. You've got a lot of work to do and I'm just getting in the way."

"No you're not," Thomas protested.

"Actually, I am. And besides, I told the taxi driver to wait for me and I don't think he'll still be there if I stay much longer."

"But what about the other window?"

She got down from the chair and slipped on her shoes. "I'm sorry, Tommy, but I can't. Maybe I'll be able to come over later?"

"Right, of course. Let me just—" Thomas started to rise from his seat, but Frederick interrupted.

"I'll take her out, Goliath. You just stay there and finish up those reports."

"I don't mind walking out with Cat."

"No, no, you've got way too much work to do and you'll probably keep Kitty-cat from getting back in time. I'll handle this." Frederick offered his arm to Catherine, which she accepted.

She smiled at Thomas, calling, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, goodbye," Thomas said, watching rather unhappily as his cousin and Catherine disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

"So how was Livesley?" Catherine asked, smiling at Frederick as he led her down the corridor.

He shrugged. "Oh, you know, great as always. Da had me running from meeting to meeting with him, learning all the tricks of the old trade and so on. We had a time of it straightening out the little details, but we managed."

"Do you think you'll be ready for the seat when your father steps down?" she asked as they passed by the ornate tapestries which decorated the walls.

"Most likely, yes."

Catherine's smile widened. "That's good. I'm happy it all worked out."

"Me too," Frederick said, casting a sideways glance at the girl.

He really should ask her. After all, she would know better than anyone else, and she would not laugh at him, either. But not everything was in play yet… could he really risk it?

Worth a try.

Frederick coughed, asking, "Um, Kitty-cat, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?"

"Of course you can."

"And I want it to be just between the two of us."

Catherine stopped, turning to look at him. "Freddy, what are you hiding?"

He squirmed uncomfortably, replying, "Nothing really big it's just—well, I met a gal."

"You've met a lot of girls."

He nodded, starting to walk forward again. "Yes, but this gal is special. She's nice, pretty and all that, _and_, here's the kicker, she doesn't want to smack me. She likes me, Kitty-cat, and I like her. A lot."

"So you mean you've got yourself a girlfriend?" Catherine asked.

"Yes—but it's unofficial. See, her family has this notion that younger daughters can't be courted until the older daughters are attached. And she's got herself an older sister who is unattached, so we can't be together."

She narrowed her eyes. "And you want me to help you find a man for her?"

Frederick shook his head, clarifying, "No, there is a fellow. He's a good man, and he likes the gal, and they're pretty much perfect for each other. But the problem is, he's too stupid to admit it. Wot do I do?"

"Talk to him, I suppose," Catherine decided.

"Will that work?"

She shrugged. "Well, not necessarily, but he's standing in the way of your happiness so you might as well give it a chance. If that doesn't work, try it from the other end. Get the girl to like him."

"You sure?"

Catherine sighed. "I don't know, Freddy, but I don't see why you can't try."

"Right. Thank you, Kitty-cat. I'll see wot turns up, eh?" he grinned at her, but his grin faltered upon seeing her face.

"Does Tommy know about this?"

Frederick bit his lip, answering, "No. He doesn't."

Catherine nodded and said, "I'll leave it up to you but you'll need to tell him eventually. You are his cousin, after all. He'd want to know this."

"I will—when the time is right. And," Frederick spotted a uniformed driver speaking to one of the guards at the door, "I think your cabbie just popped in looking for you. Goodbye, Kitty-cat. See you tomorrow."

She smiled. "Goodbye—and good luck. I am happy you found someone."

He bowed and turned heel as Catherine went over to the taxi driver.

* * *

"'Merchantman Theodore of lower Florence made a complaint that…' where is it again?" Thomas turned a few pages of his report, frowning. "Ah, 'that his tobacco company is going under due to the lack of rain and pleads the duchy for a loan. Duke Alexander of Florence then pleads the crown for a—_regulatory_ _cheque for two hundred_?' That can't be right…" The prince turned a few more pages, shaking his head.

The clerks of Florence were terrible at recording their master's wishes. There was no need for a loan from the royal treasury. Florence had plenty of backup funds to dole out as the duchy saw fit. And at any rate, had any of the remaining tobacco companies lodge complaints? No, this was either a scam or a mistake. He'd have to reply back to Duke Alexander as soon as possible or—

"Wot do you think you're doing?" Frederick asked, storming into the office.

Thomas picked up a fresh sheet of parchment. "Shifting paperwork, what do you think I'm doing?"

His cousin flapped his hand. "No, not that!"

He raised an eyebrow at the man's tone. "Okay, what then?"

"I asked you wot happened when I was gone and you told me 'nothing'," Frederick declared, setting his hands on his hips and glaring at his cousin.

Thomas frowned, replying, "I know. And that's because nothing did happen. Now could you sit down here and help me with some of these reports? You can take the Livesley stack if you don't—"

"Argh, you are such a big, fat liar!"

"What?"

Frederick pointed at him, accusing, "A whole lot more than '_nothing_' happened, as you very well know!"

Thomas sat back in his chair, responding, "Okay, I am completely lost. What are you so upset about?"

"Goliath, were you or were you not admiring Kitty-cat as she strung up those pretty curtains?"

It was a second before Thomas stammered, "I—I was—," he hesitated, and then turned back to his work, muttering, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Frederick rolled his eyes. "'Course you don't. Just like you don't fancy the gal, either."

"Balderdash, how many times must I say it, we are just fr—"

"Oh, don't start on that 'friend' twaddle again, Goliath!" Frederick flung himself into one of the seats in front of the desk. "Things changed while I was gone. I can see it and don't say I can't."

"Nothing changed. Cat and I are the same as we ever were."

His cousin wiggled his finger at him, remarking, "Those two fireworks going off on the sides of your head don't agree with you."

Annoyed, Thomas grabbed his reddening ears. "Stupid inherited trait."

"Seriously, Goliath, when are you going to ask her da if you can court her?"

"I'm not going to ask."

"Why not?"

Thomas dropped his hands, snapping, "Because I don't want to court her—I don't want to court anyone."

"Ah, so you don't like her?"

"She's my friend, so naturally I like her. But only because she's my friend, that's it." Evidently feeling that the discussion was over, the prince went back to reading his reports.

Frederick considered his cousin, remembering all too well the many times Thomas had mentioned Catherine in the past few days. Even during meetings he had caught Thomas gazing out the window, his mind clearly elsewhere. It was like the man thought of nothing else! Frankly, Frederick was getting fed up—and he had that other problem to worry about. He had to say _something_.

"All right, so you don't want to court Kitty-cat, fine. But, tell me this, wot if some other bloke up and decides he likes her? Wot if he fancies her?"

Without looking up, his cousin said, "Good for him."

Frederick snapped his fingers, urging, "No, think about it, Tom. _Really_ think about it."

The prince met his eyes with a skeptical expression.

"Hear me out. Wot if that bloke likes Kitty-cat and she likes him back? Wot if he wants to take her dancing and go to parties with her and brings her mountains of chocolate?"

Thomas smirked. "'Mountains'?"

"Uh-huh, _mountains_. Wot then?"

Thomas weighed the question, watching as his cousin nodded in satisfaction. Of course, it was not as though he had never thought about the idea. Catherine was a beautiful woman. There were bound to be a number of suitors showing up in the near future. But it was silly, debating hypothetical questions now. As if it mattered. As if he was running out of time to make a move. As if he even wanted to… make a move….

Frederick caught the slightest shadow of doubt crossing his cousin's face before Thomas shook his head. "There is no such man."

"How do you know? Does she tell you everything?"

"Of course not."

"Then how do you _know_?" Frederick asked again, leaning forward.

Thomas set down his quill and crossed his arms. "If there were some other fellow out there who liked her and she liked him then yes, Cat would tell me. But, as she has not, there obviously is no 'other bloke' I—or anyone else—has to worry about. Therefore, this conversation is pointless and you're just distracting me from finishing my work."

"You're evading the question."

"I have a lot of work to do."

"You need to confront this."

"Freddy—"

"Goliath, this is important—"

"Marquess Hadrian!" Thomas barked, true anger surging into his voice. "As your crown prince, I order you to leave this office and complete your work elsewhere. Have it on my desk by eight o'clock this evening, and no later. You are dismissed."

Frederick stiffened. His cousin hardly ever pulled rank on him.

"Righto," he swallowed, standing up and removing a stack of reports from the desk. "I'll just get to work, your Highness."

The prince had started another report by the time his cousin reached the door. Frederick glanced back, the tenseness in his face lessening.

He said, clearly, "Mate, I—I don't mean to be mean."

No response.

"It's just—I've never seen you this happy before."

Thomas stopped writing, staring hard at the paper in front of him.

"See you at dinner." The door closed gently, its soft 'thud' barely noticeable.

At his desk, Thomas turned around in his chair and gazed out the windows of his office, seeing the blue sky beyond. The day's cheerfulness did not match his own heart, and he did not understand why.

He had not meant to get mad at his cousin. He had not meant to grow so defensive, so irritable. It was just—ever since Frederick had come back—no, it had started long before then. He could not even tell when it _had_ started, this pain inside him. An ache, a longing, a dull throb…

Thomas glanced up at the new set of curtains, whispering, "Life with Cat," he turned to the other set, "Life without Cat." Had those drapes always been such an ugly shade of yellow? The looked positively depressing compared to the regal purple flanking the other window.

But he could have both. Yes, he could have both. And he did not have to think about marriage or even courting to get it. He was perfectly happy with the way things were. Friends. That was what they were. Good, non-romantic, platonic, friends.

"And if some other man—some other bloke happens to fancy her—and she fancies him right back… well, it's no concern of mine as long as he treats her well and understands just how important she is. As long as he knows just how beautiful and smart and kind and—and perfect she is…" Thomas leaned back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling. "Then it's all—it's all right. I have no quarrel with him."

The words echoed hollowly about the confines of his office.

* * *

_Bonus Preview: Next chapter is going to be titled, 'The Other Bloke', and will indeed include... another bloke :D also some lousy mechanics AND more book-throwing... Stay tuned!_


	19. The other bloke

**Author Note**: I'm on vacation now, so all I'm going to say is: hope you enjoy this! Thank you for your lovely reviews, I appreciate them greatly! It is always nice to have encouragement! :D Thank you also for faving, following, and all that jazz! You guys are great!

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Catherine looked out the window again, even though she knew it would be at least another quarter of an hour before her sister and brother-in-law arrived. The late morning sky was colored a startling blue, and the sunlight reflected off the drifting clouds. A few seagulls perched on the roof of the house across the road, cleaning their feathers and crying into the breeze. The street, however, was empty of both people and coaches.

"Katie, have you finished getting ready for lunch?"

Catherine turned around to find her mother had entered the sitting room. She nodded, answering, "Most of it's done except the pie, which I just started baking, and the salad. I figured there would be a bit of talking and visiting before we sit down to eat."

Lady Marie smiled. "Your father's very excited about the pie. He's in the kitchen right now, reading the weekly letter from Mr. Mac and breathing in the smell."

"He does love apple pie."

Her mother sighed, replying, "Sometimes I think he likes it a bit too much, honestly, but that's what I get for marrying a farmer."

"Just because he's a farmer doesn't mean he's going to like apple pie. Tommy likes apple pie and he's heir to the throne," Catherine said, looking out the window again.

"All right, have it your way. I still think it's funny you wanted to invite the man over in the first place." Truth be told, Lady Marie was not all that surprised that her daughter asked if the prince could come over. She just felt it would be nicer not to point out patterns.

"He's friends with George, and I know the girls would like to see him again. _And_ his cousin is back so it will be nice to catch up with him as well."

Lady Marie tilted her head, observing, "That's very thoughtful of you, dear—making sure Thomas can be reunited with his friends and—"

Catherine interrupted with a gasp of delight. "There's someone coming—it's Lizzie and George!"

Emma poked her head into the room, asking, "Lizzie?"

"Is George here yet?" Allison asked, running down the stairs.

"George is here? I want to play lion-tamer with him again!" Georgiana pushed her way past Allison and, in her haste to get downstairs, tripped on the last step and landed face-first on the carpet. Crying was immediate.

"Oh, dear girl, it's all right." Lady Marie came over to take the little girl in her arms.

Catherine paused at the door. "Mother, can we go out?"

"Go ahead, dear. We'll be with you in a moment." Lady Marie took a seat on the steps, Georgiana in her lap, and watched Catherine, Emma, and Allison go outside to greet her eldest daughter.

Catherine ran to the gate and pushed it open to enter the street, waving. "Lizzie! Lizzie!"

Elizabeth and her husband were riding in a two-person gig, with George holding the reins of the horse in front. Elizabeth had been talking when she heard her sister's shout, and she looked up, her face brightening.

"George—George, do slow down!"

"Slow down? Why should I—Lizzie!" George yelped as his wife jumped from the still-moving cart to run the rest of the way to her father's house.

Catherine met Elizabeth halfway, hugging her sister tightly and squealing with joy. Then soon the squeals turned into giggles, followed by more hugging.

"I've missed you so much!" Catherine said, laughing.

Her sister smiled. "I've missed you too. Tons!"

"You never write enough letters!"

"And you always write too much! How on earth do you expect me to read them all?" Elizabeth asked, breaking out into giggles again.

"Lizzie!" They turned to find Emma and Allison coming up behind them.

Elizabeth's smile widened, and she threw her arms around them both. "Oh, you sweet girls! Hello! Hello again!"

"Hello Lizzie! You look really nice." Emma said, admiring her sister's expensive dress. Clearly George, as rising duke of Dean, had a good amount of money to lavish on his new wife.

Allison, holding tight to Elizabeth's side, looked around. "Where's George?"

"He's coming." Catherine answered, frowning at Allison. "Ally, where's Elly?"

"She's upstairs."

"Why don't you run to get her?"

Allison pouted. "But, Katie, I want to see—"

"Fetch your sister, dear. George isn't going anywhere."

Elizabeth agreed, smiling. "Yes, Ally, I want to see her too. And where is Georgiana?"

"I'll get them." Grumbling, Allison retreated back into the house.

Emma, noticing that _she_ had not been called on to return to the house, said importantly, "Did you notice, Lizzie? I've gotten taller."

"So you have. My word, you _are_ growing up, aren't you?" Elizabeth declared, exchanging smiles with Catherine as their younger sister beamed proudly.

Beside them, the gig trundled to a stop and George hopped down from the driver's seat, striding over. "Lizzie, you should have waited for me to stop the cart."

His wife made a face. "Oh please, George, the way you've been fussing about that thing—I know you'd take a full minute to get here."

"All the same, could you please wait for me to stop next time?" George asked, his voice impatient.

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Yes, my love, I will wait."

"Thank you."

"Why didn't you take the duke's carriage?" Catherine asked as the horse let out a snort.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, replying, "George wanted to try out his new cart—he had it made special for little excursions and such to the pastures. Personally, I just think he's being silly about it."

"I'm not being silly, I'm being practical." George grinned and gave both Catherine and Emma a hug. "Hello, Katie, Emma. How are you?"

Catherine smiled. "Brilliant. It's wonderful to see you two again."

"Very good, George," Emma said, evidently still feeling extremely grown-up.

George nodded. "Marvelous, marvelous. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must see to the horse and then the luggage."

Before he could move two inches, however, three small girls raced over to intercept him.

Eleanor grinned widely, crying, "George! George, did you miss us?"

"Oh, of course I did!" the man said, smiling as he bent to bestow hugs and kisses all around.

Georgiana, having quite recovered from her fall, asked, "Can we play lion-tamer while you're here?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing," he said, earning another hug.

Catherine shook her head. "He'll never get the luggage out now."

Elizabeth sighed as they started walking to the house. "Probably not. And when he does he'll want to come out here and check on his cart. He kept muttering the entire way about some noise it was making. I didn't hear a thing, but he said I just wasn't listening hard enough." They reached the front door, where Lady Marie was waiting for them. Elizabeth embraced her mother, exclaiming, "Mother! I have loads of questions for you and absolutely _none_ of them could be in a letter."

Her mother smiled, holding her close. "I rather expected as much. Hello, dear girl. How I've missed you."

Elizabeth sniffed. "Mother stop. You're going to make me cry and get all blotchy."

"That's my Lizzie," Lady Marie said, placing her hand on Elizabeth's cheek.

"And where is Daddy? Why hasn't he come out to see me?" Elizabeth demanded.

There was a low cough, and all three looked up to see Lord Brian coming from upstairs, holding hands with a yawning girl. "I was busy locating Jane. The dear girl had fallen asleep."

"Stayed up too late reading, Jane?" Catherine asked, recognizing the sleepy-but-satisfied expression on her younger sister's face.

Jane rubbed her eyes and smiled. "It was a good book. Baroness Diana's fairy-tales."

Her older sister grinned, stroking her hair. "I remember that one."

Elizabeth pulled back from hugging her father, groaning, "Yes, and I do too. You used to keep me awake all night trying to finish 'just one more story'."

"Good thing you're married and moved out now," Catherine replied.

"Are you kidding? George still keeps me up late. Every time he—," Elizabeth suddenly blushed and muttered, "but that's one of the things I need to talk to Mother about _so_, Daddy let me show you the new gig." She took her father's arm and made to lead him into the yard.

"I can only imagine what you were going to say," Lord Brian said, his eyes twinkling.

His eldest daughter patted his arm. "Hush, Daddy. That's not for your ears."

Shaking her head, Lady Marie decided, "I think you'd better get started on the salad, Katie. Jane and I will set the table."

"Yes, Mother." Still smiling, happy to have her best friend back home again, Catherine followed her mother and sister into the house.

* * *

Thomas had not spoken a word for nearly the entire trip down from the palace. Frederick, walking alongside him, glanced once or twice at the prince's tired face. They had worked into the night, finishing neglected reports and writing letters to several members of the Coronan nobility. But Frederick knew that physical strain was not the only cause of this weariness. His cousin had a decision to make, and however much he pushed, Frederick knew that ultimately, Thomas would have to make it alone.

That did not mean he could not try to speed things along, however.

Frederick sniffed the air. "Rather sweet of Kitty-cat to invite us over."

"Yes it was," the prince said, keeping his eyes on the pavestones.

"Did she do this often while I was away?"

Thomas shook his head. "No. Not often."

"But you did see her?" Frederick asked, raising an eyebrow.

His cousin sighed. "Freddy, I do not want to talk about this."

"I was just asking—"

Thomas turned abruptly, putting his finger directly in his cousin's face. "No, you were trying to bring up something which I clearly told you yesterday was none of your business."

Frederick looked at him seriously. "I'm just worried about you."

"You're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Now I don't want another word about this, all right? I don't want you to be nudging me, or hissing at me, or making faces of any kind while we are over at Cat's house. We are guests, Freddy, and whatever—whatever disagreements we may be having, we need to behave politely while we are over there."

"Well I wasn't going to shout at you," his cousin replied, sounding hurt.

Thomas nodded, his voice softening as he said, "No, I know. I know you weren't. It's just, lately, there has been a—a problem I've been having. And I don't—," he took a deep breath, debating on whether or not he wanted to broach this subject with his cousin. The sight of a pair of legs sticking out from beneath an unhorsed gig saved him from making a decision, however. "What on earth?"

Frederick followed Thomas's gaze. "Did someone get run over by a cart?"

"No I—I recognize the colors on that gig. Those are of the house of Dean."

"She did say her sister and brother-in-law were scooting over for a visit."

Thomas and Frederick walked over to the gig, which was still parked in the street outside Lord Brian's house. There was an old toolbox sitting next to the man's feet, its contents fairly new-looking despite the age of the box.

Uncertainly, Thomas asked, "George?"

There was a loud 'clank' and a muffled yowl from beneath the gig. A second later, George pulled himself out from under the cart, sucking his thumb ruefully while his other hand held a small wrench. The man had stripped off his jacket and vest to work in his shirtsleeves, sporting a grease smudge on one side of his face. He looked rather cross, and glared at Thomas for a long while before removing his thumb from his mouth.

"Blast it, Thomas, didn't anyone ever tell you not to interrupt a man when he's working?"

"Generally my father appreciates interruptions," Thomas said, a grin crossing his face. "What are you doing, George? Where's your footman?"

"We didn't bring him. Lizzie and I came down alone."

Thomas cocked his head, glancing at the gig. "Is that safe?"

"It's safer than working under a cart while you're around."

Frederick smirked and said, "He got you there, Goliath."

"Whatever. But why are you under there, anyway?"

"Heard a noise during the trip. I kept telling myself it was," George grunted, lowering himself back under the gig, "the newness of the cart. But everything's been well-greased so I wondered if the horse kicked a rock or something into it."

Thomas and Frederick, despite knowing next to nothing about how the underside of a carriage worked, reacted as most men do when faced with a mechanical problem and began making suggestions. After all, this was a man's job and, as men, they were bound to have intuitive awareness of such things. A few minutes later proved that they were not the only ones who believed this concept, for Lord Brian came from around the back of the house, a large box in his arms.

Without batting an eye, Lord Brian said, "Hello, gentlemen."

"Good afternoon, Lord Brian," Thomas replied.

"Need some help with that, sir?" Frederick asked, coming over to relieve the man of his burden.

Ignoring Frederick, Lord Brian went over and knelt next to George. "I found a few spare parts in the back of the stable, George. I think they might be what you're looking for."

"Thank you, sir." George pulled himself up again and shuffled through the container of old coach parts.

Lord Brian adjusted his glasses, asking, "Are you sure you don't want me to try? I fixed a few wagons, myself, back in the day."

George, knowing of his father-in-law's extensive knowledge on cows and relative lack of knowledge about gigs, politely declined.

So it was that Lord Brian joined Thomas and Frederick in the giving of advice while George toiled beneath his new cart. Granted, not much of this advice was very useful, but all three men felt rather pleased at the whole situation. Thomas, in particular, was quite happy, as 'helping' with the gig had given him the excuse not to go inside and face his problems.

* * *

In the kitchen, Catherine was chopping up fresh vegetables for the salad. She had already taken care of the carrots and was about to start on tomatoes when Elizabeth walked into the room.

"We're all unpacked and then George went straight out to tinker with his cart again." Elizabeth made a face, taking a seat at the table.

Catherine sliced a tomato in half, replying, "He's concerned about it. He only wants it to be safe for the trip back."

"He's obsessive. Honestly, men and their toys." Elizabeth pursed her lips, watching as her sister continued to cut the fruit. "Are you busy?"

"Sort of. The salad's not going to prepare itself."

"Well, can it wait for a moment because I've got a letter for you."

Catherine laughed, cutting out quarters. "A letter? Is this one of the letters you promised to send me but never did?"

Her sister held out the letter, answering, "_No_, it's not. It's from that fellow Jerome. He said his last one must have gotten lost in the mail so he wrote another and asked me to take it to you."

"I was wondering why he hadn't responded yet…" Catherine wiped her hands on her apron and took the letter, opening the envelope and pulling the folded papers out. She smiled, reading aloud, "'I apologize for the lateness of this reply. Recently, mail service in Dean has been dreadful, but don't mention that to your brother-in-law or I'll be out of a job'. Oops—Lizzie, don't tell George he said that."

Elizabeth shook her head, getting up to take her sister's place at the counter. "George won't care. He doesn't even know who Jerome is."

"He's an assistant astronomer in the city library."

"Which doesn't mean much to a man who spends most of his time reading law and studying the economy of sheep products." Elizabeth carefully rocked the knife back and forth over a fresh tomato.

Catherine continued scanning the letter, muttering, "He's a good astronomer. One of the best."

"You've said." She slipped the tomato pieces from her cutting board and into the bowl of greens.

"_And_ he's a nice man and a good dancer."

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder as she turned on the sink. "As good as the prince?"

Catherine smiled. "No, not as good as Tommy. But he's way better than some of George's groomsmen. Jerome actually rescued me from having to dance with Derrick again."

"Derrick?" Her sister frowned.

"One of George's groomsmen."

"Oh yes—that one." She sighed, turning off the faucet and grabbing a dishtowel. "You know, it's a real shame, but I hardly remember a thing about my own wedding."

"It was a good wedding. Lots of fun—lots of food. You and George weren't bad either."

"George was probably splendid, as he always is… oh, that reminds me of something." Elizabeth turned around, still twisting the towel in her hands. "Katie, you were right."

Catherine nodded, still reading. "I know I was. About what?"

"The corset. It was far too tight and just a silly idea. George fought with the laces at least thirty minutes before he went for his knife." Elizabeth flashed her a not-so-innocent grin. "He was rather dashing about the whole thing."

"Lizzie, I thought you were going to talk to Mother about that."

"I'm not going to go into detail—I just wanted to warn you for the future."

"What future?"

"In case you get married and Lady Darla's daughter is still bragging about her corset—and you _know_ she will—and you decide to wear one. Trust me, it's a really stupid plan that'll just irritate your new husband," Elizabeth said firmly.

"Considering I don't even know if I will get married in the first place, thank you for the advice but I find it unnecessary."

Elizabeth watched her sister as she turned another page of her letter, noting the small smile on her face. She set aside the dishtowel and sidled over, running a finger against the grain of the table. "Um, speaking of friends—marriage—life…"

"Yes, speaking of?"

"Oh, put that letter down and talk to me for a moment, Katie."

Catherine looked up from her letter, asking, "What?"

"So you invited Tommy and that ridiculous cousin of his for lunch today?" her sister asked, fixing her with a meaningful stare.

She nodded, folding up the paper. "Yes, I thought George would enjoy their company."

Elizabeth snorted, "Oh yes, _George_ will enjoy their company."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's just a bit odd, you know? You and the prince," she smirked, "_friends_."

Catherine groaned, "Really? I already get this from Isobel, Lizzie, I don't want any of it from you."

"All the same, have you thought about it? I mean, Katie, he is a good man."

"He is a good friend, that's all."

"And you haven't thought about it?" Elizabeth asked, tilting her chin.

Thought about what? The prince of the country—and her? All she had ever seen them as was just friends. Granted, everyone else of her acquaintance seemed to consider them as more than friends, but that was just silly. What did they know, really? She and Thomas had an understanding, an agreement, that friendship was all that they wanted. Why on earth did people persist in making up all sorts of—?

"Katie!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just—I was thinking."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "About you and Tommy?"

"About how stupid it is everyone wants to pair us up." Catherine dropped one of the pages of her letter and stooped to retrieve it.

"And that's how you feel about it?"

"That's how we both feel about it," she said, ignoring the voice in her head that reminded her she did _not_ know how Thomas felt about the idea.

Elizabeth studied her for a few seconds, comparing what was said with what her sister's eyes were telling her. She gave a toss of her head. "All right, if you say so. I suppose I shouldn't worry too much about the prince anyway since you've got your little pen-pal in Dean."

Before Catherine could respond, she heard her mother calling for her.

"I'll be back. Lizzie, please start grating some cheese."

"I'll skin my knuckles," Elizabeth predicted, going over to the icebox.

"Then be careful and you won't skin them." Catherine replied, leaving the room to find her mother.

* * *

George kicked the wheel of the gig, barking out a rude word.

"I definitely heard the noise that time," Thomas said from where he knelt, squinting up into the undergear of the cart.

Frederick rose to his feet on the other side, agreeing, "Sure did—sounded like a chap stepping on a mouse."

"It sounded like what George said, only in cart language," Lord Brian said, trying to keep himself from laughing.

Gritting his teeth, the future duke of Dean folded his arms, glaring at his new vehicle. "That's it, I'm going to go find the taxi office. They're bound to have a mechanic there who can fix this thing."

His father-in-law gave him a cheerful nod. "I'll go with you. There's a fellow named Jacob at the office. Smart lad. Respectful too."

Frederick declared, "We'll guard the cart, George. Keep it safe while you and Lord—um, Lord—" he looked at Thomas questioningly.

"Brian," his cousin said.

"You and Lord Brian go fetch bally old Jacob," Frederick finished, grinning.

George, uncertain if he would find his gig still in one piece upon his return, muttered, "Thanks."

"Best be getting on, then." Lord Brian said, starting the trek to the taxi office, a reluctant George treading along beside him.

Frederick watched as the two men left, musing aloud, "That Lord Thingy fellow isn't such a scary man is he? He's actually topping."

"M'hmm."

"Goliath, do you think he'd mind if I—wot are you doing?" Frederick gaped as his cousin lowered himself under the cart.

"Nothing."

"No you're not." Frederick bent down to see him. "Why are you holding that wrench?"

"It's just—I think I saw something George didn't," Thomas replied, feeling along the vehicle's chassis.

"Wot? We're both rubbish at carriages, Goliath, you know that."

"_You_ might be but I've spent some time around them."

Frederick rolled his eyes, retorting, "You've spent time with your backside planted on their cushioned seats."

"Be quiet, and let me just—balderdash, it's out of reach."

"Wot is?"

Thomas indicated a tiny, round object inches from his finger. "This bolt. It's loose." He tried to stretch his arm further, murmuring to himself.

His cousin set his hands on the side of the cart. "Tom, no, the last thing that's going to endear you to Kitty-cat is if you wreck her kin's carriage. I mean, come on, you—"

Thomas managed to get the wrench hooked around the bolt, and he began to tighten, feeling more confident at that moment than he had felt all day. See,_ here_ was a problem he could fix! He did not need to do anything fancy, just a simple action. No mess. No complexity involved.

"Aha—got it! See, Freddy, there was nothing to worry—" there was an ominous shuddering above his head. Before Thomas knew what was happening, his cousin had seized him by the shirt and hauled him out from beneath the gig. Not a half-second later, one of the supporting bars of the cart dropped onto the street with a deafening 'CLUNK'.

Thomas rubbed the back of his head, realizing how close he had come to sustaining a crushed skull. "Thank you, Freddy."

"Perhaps George won't notice?" Frederick asked.

"Yeah. Perhaps—perhaps not."

* * *

Catherine was passing through the sitting room when she spotted an interesting sight out the window. A laugh escaped her, and she called, "Lizzie! Mother! Quick, come look!"

Her mother walked into the room, Emma and Jane trailing behind her. "What on earth is happening, Katie? What are you laughing about?"

"Look outside."

The three ladies obeyed, and Emma cried, "What are they doing to George's carriage?"

Lady Marie sighed, answering, "Fixing it, I presume. Oh dear, and your father's out there too…"

Elizabeth entered the room as she said, "Katie, I finished the salad while you were—what's going on?"

"Lizzie, how many men does it take to fix a carriage?" Catherine asked, still laughing.

"I don't know—one?"

"Try five."

"What?"

"Look out the window, dear," Lady Marie said, stepping aside so her eldest could get a clear view.

Outside, Thomas, Frederick and Lord Brian were standing around the gig while George crouched next to Jacob, the man they had found at the taxi office. Jacob was lying beneath the cart, trying to reattach the bar the prince had accidentally removed. He was receiving all kinds of advice from George and Lord Brian, while Thomas and his cousin remained quiet. But of course, Elizabeth could not hear a word of what was going on and could only gaze in alarm as her husband shot a rather unhappy look in the prince's direction.

"What on earth is Daddy doing out there?" Elizabeth asked, bewildered. "He doesn't know how to fix a wheelbarrow much less a carriage!"

Catherine smiled. "Oh, you know Daddy—the first chance he gets to spend time with the 'boys' he's going to do it."

"And there's Tommy and his cousin. Who's that fellow beneath the cart?"

"A professional mechanic, I hope," Catherine said, glancing at Thomas. For some reason, the man was looking shamefaced. Occasionally he would lean over and whisper something to Frederick, who just shook his head. Having seen the two squabbling about a strategy game the day before, Catherine was a bit surprised at how they were interacting. She expected boyish grins, not this sober exchange. The difference made her concerned, and her smile faded. What was going on?

Lady Marie set a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "Lizzie, we're going to have lunch soon. How about you go get them?"

"Why me?"

"Because it's your husband who's new gig is out there. And since her guests are out there as well, Katie can go with you."

Elizabeth straightened, her eyes falling on George. "Oh. Oh yes, of course."

* * *

"Aright, gents," Jacob pulled himself out from underneath the gig, clapping his hands together. "I'll need some 'elp getting 'er up 'igher in order to finish the job."

George nodded. "Okay, Lord Brian, can you—"

The man shook his head, groaning, "I've got a bad back, George—old age, years of milking cows. I'm sorry, but I can't help."

"Right." George looked over at the other two men. "Um, Freddy and—and Thomas—would you mind helping?"

Thomas glanced at his boots. "I'm not sure you'd want me doing that, George, considering what happened."

Jacob appraised the prince, commenting, "I doan't see why not—you're a big'un, sir, if you doan't mind my say'n."

George jerked his head towards the cart, a forgiving smile on his face. "Go ahead, Thomas. It was an accident."

"All right." Thomas set his hands beneath the cart alongside Frederick, and both men began to lift.

"Be careful not to get any grease on you or Marie won't let you at her table," Lord Brian said, supervising. "Yes, that's it—just a bit higher boys. There we go."

It only took Jacob a mere minute to get everything in order, and soon all the men were standing around, admiring the repaired cart.

"Not too bad, gents, not too bad at all," the mechanic declared.

Thomas's face took on a wry expression. "I don't know who you're talking to—I broke the thing."

Jacob clapped him on the shoulder. "Nah, you figgered out the problem. That's not breaking—that's part of the fix'n."

"Really?" the prince asked, surprised at the man's simple frankness.

"Yessir."

Thomas grinned at the man and then at Frederick. "See, Freddy? I was doing the right thing after all."

Frederick, noticing the enormous dab of black grease marking his cousin's nose, snorted.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

Beside them, George rubbed his chin doubtfully before bending down to examine the undergear once more. "Not that I don't trust your judgment, Jacob, but I just want to make sure—"

"George!"

George jumped, hurriedly getting to his feet in order to face a very exasperated Elizabeth.

"Lizzie?"

"What have you been doing to all these fellows, hmm? Dragging them along to help you discover a squeaky wheel?"

Jacob coughed. "Marm, it wasn't the wheel, it was the—"

"For goodness sake, George, we're here to visit my family! Not play with your new coach."

"It's a gig, darling, not a coach," George corrected, which was apparently the wrong thing to do.

Elizabeth glared at him. "Whatever it is, do you really think it's polite to spend the entire day on it?"

"Of course not, I was just—" his wife set a finger against his lips, forcing him to stop speaking. Then the she fluttered her eyelashes at him and presented a dangerously sweet smile.

"George, I love you so very much and I appreciate your concern for my safety. Now finish playing with your friends and come inside, dear. You need to wash up for lunch." She kissed his nose and turned to walk back to the house.

"_That_ she learned from her mother," Lord Brian said, giving his son-in-law an apologetic frown.

"She's not usually like this," George said, dumbfounded.

Lord Brian shrugged. "You're not usually fiddling about with the carriage, either."

Meanwhile, Thomas and Frederick were attempting to keep straight faces. Frederick could not help but whisper out of the side of his mouth: "Looks like George's got himself in a matrimonial choker, eh, Goliath?"

"I'd say so," Thomas muttered, watching a flustered George begin discussing payment with Jacob. "The poor man will do anything for her with just one bat of those," he turned to see Catherine, his voice slowly faltering, "big, green eyes…"

"Hello." She smiled, her big green eyes easily causing Thomas to forget how to think for a few seconds.

"'Ello, Kitty-cat," Frederick said, nudging his cousin with his elbow.

"Hi!" Thomas blurted. "Um, hello—yes, sorry we didn't come in—we were just, uh, helping George."

Catherine arched an eyebrow. "I can see that."

"How are you?" Thomas asked.

"Good—happy to have Lizzie back if only for a little while. And what about you?"

Frederick stepped in, grinning as he answered, "He's fantastic. Almost knocked himself out, but he's great."

Thomas glared at his cousin. "_Freddy_."

"Almost knocked himself out?" Catherine repeated, looking at the prince.

He shrugged, admitting, "I—I did something rather stupid with the gig, but it's all fixed now."

"Okay, good to hear. So, are you going to come inside and get washed up?"

"I don't see why—I didn't get very dirty," Thomas said.

She smirked, and he frowned.

"What was that for?"

"Follow me." Catherine started to go back to the house, and Thomas exchanged glances with his cousin.

Frederick waved him off. "I'll just go help George get the currency figured. You go ahead, Goliath."

Thomas did as instructed, following Catherine up the path to the porch and into the front hall. She led him over to the side table and indicated the mirror above it.

"Look."

Thomas did as told and sighed at the rather obvious grease splotch darkening his nose.

Catherine rested her head against his shoulder, smiling at his reflection. "Ah, the marks of a hard-working man."

"Very funny."

She looked up at him. "I'll go fetch you some water and a towel to clean up before lunch. Then you can tell me all about how you helped George with his coach."

"It's a gig."

Mischievously, Catherine replied, "It's a castle."

"It's a rook," he said, grinning.

Laughing, Catherine turned to go down the hallway, unaware that Thomas watched her walk the entire trip.

The man shook his head and peered at his reflection again. He tried to rub the mark from his nose, only succeeding in making it worse. Oh well. She had more reason to laugh at him now.

He took a deep breath, realizing that there was a delicious smell winding its way through the corridor. Apple pie, an unmistakable fragrance that was almost as beautiful as Catherine. What sort of thoughts were these? It seemed as if she never left his mind.

Thomas turned his attention to the collection of papers and books upon the side table, hoping to distract himself from this pleasant, but unnerving, line of thinking. The table mostly held a series of unopened envelopes, shopping lists, and an old newspaper with coffee stains marring its pages. But there was something else… a page of writing.

Curiosity momentarily overcoming politeness, Thomas picked up the letter and began to read. Very soon his eyes were sweeping over the paper, gaining speed with each line.

_'Hello, my dear Catherine. I apologize for the lateness of this reply. Recently, mail service in Dean has been dreadful, but don't mention that to your brother-in-law or I'll be out of a job. Hope I made you laugh there. Also, you'll be happy to know that I've been reading some of Leon of Pharx's writings. I must admit, despite all our arguments concerning that particular philosopher, you were right. He is a fascinating individual who had incredible insight for his time._

_ Anyway, do you remember that star I showed you the last time you were here? Well, I've been tracking it, and according to Master Calivan, there is no mention of it in the guild's records. I can hardly write now, my hands are shaking so. I still can't believe it. Making a discovery like that in my second year of work? I've already been getting letters from universities, asking me to lecture—some are even offering high-ranking positions! But best of all, as discoverer, I get to name my star. And there is only one girl whom I would name it after, but of course, you of all people should know that already…' _

Thomas looked up from the letter to gaze at his own reflection. You, of all people. _You_ of all people. And only one girl he would name it after—the one girl who mattered enough…

Thomas blinked, staring at himself but not really taking in anything as his anguished heart dropped in his chest. Frederick's words came back to him, echoing at full volume within his mind. What if some other bloke likes her? What if some other bloke wants to be everything to her? What if he made jokes about her brother-in-law, and read Leon of Pharx, and named an undying star after her just to prove the strength of his emotions? This was him—this man to whom Catherine had been writing for who knows how long. This was the other bloke!

It was too late. She had—she had found another man.

And then he could hear her voice. "I'm sorry for the delay, but Mother asked me to—what are you doing?

"What?" Thomas gaped at her, still holding the painful letter in his hand. "Oh. Um—I—I was…"

Catherine snatched the letter away from him, the expression on her face far more stinging than any slap could have been.

He glanced away quickly, murmuring, "I—I was reading your mail."

"Yes, and I'm surprised. You're not generally this rude." She began folding up the letter, still trying to process this blatant and yet bizarre act.

Thomas nodded. "I know. I know it is, I—I wasn't thinking and just picked it up."

She was still looking at him, her amazing green eyes trying to catch his own. But he could not.

The prince cleared his throat, straightening suddenly. "Listen, I've just remembered, I've got to go."

"What? But you just arrived."

"I'm sorry, but it completely slipped my mind and I just—" he shook his head, continuing, "It's a really important report that my father wanted done. I've got a meeting later and it's got to be finished by then and—and it'll—it's about stocks in Florence and how the rain's been—it's quite a complicated business and—"

He continued babbling about his report, telling all manner of lies and hating himself for them. Catherine looked at the letter in her hand, making a connection.

She set a hand on his arm. "Wait, Tommy, I'm not—I'm not angry with you about the whole letter thing. It's all right."

Thomas stopped, his eyes finally meeting hers. Then he gently removed her hand, still shaking his head. "No, I've got to leave. I'm truly sorry, Cat." He turned and opened the front door. "Please give my regards to your parents."

The man exited the house and walked down the lane, his face set forward. He turned abruptly out of the gate, passing by George and his cart, passing by Jacob the mechanic, passing by Frederick who had called his name twice before catching up to him.

"Goliath, mate, where are you going?"

"Home."

"But—but why?" His cousin frowned, trying to keep up with him.

"There's some work I've left unfinished," Thomas answered dully. "I need to finish it."

"No, wait—" Frederick came in front of him, taking him by the shoulders. "We made sure to finish all our reports last night, remember? You wouldn't let me sleep until it was all done. Wot—" his eyes suddenly widened.

Thomas shrugged off his grip. "Stay here, Freddy."

"No—wot happened? Did you say something and she—wot did Kitty-cat say?"

Thomas looked at his cousin gravely. "Freddy, please, stay here. Be a good guest, pay your respects, and thank Lord Brian and his wife for allowing us to come over."

"But wot about you?" Frederick asked.

Thomas gave him a sad smile, replying, "I can't."

He resumed the journey back to the palace, and soon disappeared around a corner of the street.

* * *

Thomas had accepted his defeat at the hands of, to his mind, a much worthier opponent. To say he went quietly, however, would be twisting the truth beyond its credulity. Granted, there was no yelling at the sky or screaming at the sea. Neither was there a furious outburst when the guards failed to salute him at the door. But there _was_ a rather miserable ransacking of his bedchamber upon his return.

Miserable might be the wrong word, though. 'Lackluster' would be more appropriate, for the prince merely tossed his cravat into a corner, kicked off his boots, and began removing several books from his bookshelf. When they did not meet his criteria, he let them drop onto the floor and kept searching. An hour and a half later, the drawers of his writing desk and bedside table were hanging open, and a mess of books and papers spread about his carpet. Thomas sat on his bed, rifling through an old astronomy book he had used back in University.

He stopped looking around Chapter 2, pausing to read about the process of making a celestial discovery. See the guild records—track the body through its orbit—yes, and then there was the naming. Discoverer gets the privilege of naming, and short of vulgarity, he can call it whatever he wants.

Thomas snapped the book shut, glaring moodily at the wall. What kind of logic was that? You should not let just any man name a star. Why, what man had the right to name the stars, anyway? Did the stars belong to him? No, they did not.

He ran his hand through his hair, feeling helpless. He could not stop a man from naming stars, nor could he stop Catherine from caring for a man. It was not his place. He was her friend not—not anything else. And he only had himself to blame for that.

The door opened, and Frederick poked his head into the room. "Tom, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" He inched further in the room, growing bolder. "Because I just want to say, Kitty-cat was right upset you left so soon. All her sisters were too—especially the little bossy one."

Thomas shook his head, replying, "Freddy, just leave me alone."

Frederick stood straighter, his face determined. "No, I don't think I should, because you really hurt some people today."

The prince clenched his jaw, his irritation building. "Leave."

"And these are some of the nicest people you'd ever meet. I mean, for goodness sake, it's Kitty-cat! You can't just run off because you—"

"Get out!" Thomas chucked the astronomy book at his cousin, nearly clipping the man on the ear.

Startled, Frederick retreated to the hallway. He picked up the book, looking again at his cousin. The man had returned to staring at the wall, his expression nothing short of pitiful.

Clearly something was wrong, and Frederick knew just the lady to fix it.

He started down the hall, muttering, "That's it. I'm getting Auntie Caroline. She'll sort you out."

* * *

Three minutes later, the queen knocked on her son's door, and, after a moment of silence, came into the room.

She found Thomas still sitting on his bed, eyes trained on the wall in front of him. He had a large grease spot on his nose and crease on his brow. He looked very unhappy.

The queen took a seat on his bed, reaching out to stroke the man's hair back from his forehead. She then said, quietly, "Your cousin is worried about you. He said you left Catherine's home early today to finish work you did not have. Freddy also told me that when he tried to talk to you about it, you became very angry and threw a book at him."

Her son did not respond, and she let her hand drop from his head.

"Why did you do that?"

Thomas shrugged and said a few, incomprehensible words.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

His head dropped lower. "No."

"All right, then." The queen rose to her feet and considered the room, murmuring, "Dear me, what a mess."

She began to tidy up, gathering the loose papers and books to set back in their places. She also put his boots in his closet, and neatly folded his cravat before tucking it away in his dresser. For a long while, Thomas simply watched her move about his room as she did what all mothers do, taking care of her child.

A minute passed, and Thomas said, "My heart hurts."

"Hmm, does it really?" she asked softly, reading the titles of the books in her arms.

"Yes. It hurts and I don't know why."

His mother continued to slide books into their former places in his bookcase, stopping only once or twice to check the titles again.

Thomas sighed, adding, "Okay, I suppose that's not entirely true. I _do_ know why it hurts. It's just—we were only ever meant to be friends. That's what I told her, Mother. That's what I told myself."

"But now?"

He rubbed his eyes, murmuring, "Now I think about her, all the time. More than I've ever thought of anyone. And I—I want to make her happy."

The queen rearranged the last of the books. "That's kind of you."

"I'm not trying to be kind—I can't help it. I want to be with her every single day and I want to do everything I can for her. Everything that she needs or wants me to do, no matter how ridiculous it is. She's just so—so beautiful, and intelligent, and clever and good. She's just a good person, Mother. I've never met anyone with such compassion and grace."

She went over to arrange the papers on his desk, saying, "Remember that you haven't met everyone in the world yet, Tommy. Maybe you will find someone who has more compassion."

Thomas gazed at her, protesting, "But I won't. That's just it—there is no one else. There can never be anyone else who can compare to her. Cat is the only one and—and…" he swallowed, finishing slowly, "And I think I—I've grown to care about her more than I ever planned. Because she's worth it, Mother. She's worth everything."

The queen paused in her work, thinking over these last words. It took all the willpower she could muster to not shout for joy at the sincerity in his voice. She took a deep breath and turned around, very much composed.

"I think your problem is quite obvious," his mother said, smiling at him. "You've started to fall for her, dear."

"What?"

The queen shrugged, coming back over to sit beside him. "First, you were going very slowly, taking your time. But then you sped up, stopped at the brink, and now someone's given you a bit of a push and you're falling. And you can stop it, though it will be about as painful as smacking your head into the pavement."

"How?" Thomas asked.

"Cut ties with her completely and never see her again."

He shook his head. "That's not an option. I won't let that happen."

The queen nodded, responding, "Well, then you'll just keep falling, deeper and deeper…"

She did not say what he was falling into.

They both knew what.

His mother stood up, rubbing her arms. "I think I'm going to go get some tea. Would you like anything, dear?"

"Um, coffee," Thomas mumbled, "you know, with the sugar and—and everything."

"Of course." She kissed his forehead and exited the room.

The prince of Corona sat there for a long while as realization dawned on him. Then he got to his feet, whispering, "Freddy. I've got to tell Freddy."

* * *

Thomas found his cousin sitting in his office, completing the paperwork he had fibbed about last night. Frederick was also sitting in the man's chair, and he hastily tried to vacate it when Thomas came over.

"Oh, Goliath, I'm sorry for—"

Thomas set his hands on his cousin's shoulders, pushing him back into the chair. "Never mind that—I've got something to tell you."

"Did, um, Auntie Caroline have a chat with you?" Frederick asked, taking note of the seriousness on Thomas's face.

He nodded. "Yes, she did. And first, I want to apologize to you for how I've been acting lately. And I'm sorry I threw that book at you."

"Okay, I forgive you."

Thomas grinned. "Great. Now, Freddy."

"Yes?"

"Freddy, I think—" he stopped, shaking his head.

"Yes?"

"Well, actually, I don't think, I _know_ that—" he stopped again, trying to find words to form the million thoughts in his mind.

"Yes?"

"Freddy." Thomas looked up to see his cousin's face.

Frederick rolled his eyes, demanding, "Goliath, what?"

"I've fallen in love with Cat."

There was silence for several seconds before Frederick said, "Oh." He scratched his chin for a few more seconds, asking finally, "Is that it, then?"

* * *

_Essentially, that's the end of Act 1, or rather, the first part of the story! Wow, took a bit of time, huh? :D :D :D_


	20. Flowers for Catherine

**Author Note**: Short chapter for today! And it's pretty much Cat-centric, but I don't think you'll mind considering we had mostly Thomas for the past two chapters... Also, to answer some questions I've been getting in the reviews-as far as I can tell, this story has no less than eleven, no more than fifteen chapters left (including this one). I've got the entire thing planned out, no worries there. It just takes time to write it all to my satisfaction, and even then after I've posted it I'm still not quite happy with it :D But that's life. Anyhoo, as for the other questions, I'm not going to tell you EVERYTHING that is going to happen because I think it's more fun to watch it unfold as it comes. I might give you hints, and you can probably guess for yourself considering what will be going on in future chapters. Anyway, thank you for your patience, your interest, your very kind reviews, and for favving, following, and whatnot! I hope you enjoy this one!

P.S. As you've probably noticed, I've been updating a lot on RR and not on my other stories. That is because I am trying very hard to finish this story and then I want to take a break. A serious break, guys, because I've been writing almost nothing but fanfiction/schoolwork for the past three years and I think I need to get back to writing more original stuff. It's nothing against you guys, and it's most certainly nothing against this website or the fanfiction itself because I LOVE writing this stuff! It's been so much fun and I've learned A LOT when it comes to characters and storytelling. I've also received wonderful feedback from all of you and I appreciate it a lot! However, I'm afraid, after this story is finished (which will still probably take a long time, guys, I mean a REALLY long time) that I'll be taking a hiatus from updating stories. That does not mean I will never get back to them (I've still got Tom's Story, Forthcoming Blessing, and random shots on Family Life I can still do), but it does mean that I won't get back to them for a while, possibly even a year if not more. I hope you all understand.

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story. Oh, and by the way, there are some lines in here that I've 'borrowed' from the 1995 BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice (Colin Firth IS Darcy, and I won't believe otherwise); all credit goes to the BBC.

* * *

Catherine was in the kitchen, searching for the jars of tomatoes she had helped her mother preserve last fall. It seemed she could not find them anywhere, which was very strange, but then the thought occurred to her that she should check the upper cupboard. That meant getting a chair.

She grabbed a chair and began to drag it across the tile. She had just reached the counter when Thomas entered the room.

"Good afternoon," he said, watching as she climbed onto the chair. "Your mother told me you would be here."

"Did she?"

"Yes, she did. Um, what are you doing?" he asked.

Catherine stretched her arm further back into the cabinet. "I'm trying to find some tomatoes. I'm making a quiche."

"Sounds delicious."

"Hopefully it will be—it's a new recipe." She managed to locate one of the jars, smiling triumphantly at the tomatoes inside. Then she realized Thomas was speaking again.

"In vain have I struggled; it will not do."

"Pardon?" Catherine turned around, certain she had heard wrong.

But no—the man's face was unnervingly sincere. And he was speaking again. "My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

"Tommy?"

"Cat," he took her hand in both of his, gazing up at her through those magnificently blue eyes, "I said once that I never wanted to be married. You're changing my mind on that, however. Oh, dear, beautiful girl. You're changing my mind on a lot of things."

She dropped the jar of tomatoes, somehow not hearing the crash. "Are you—are you serious?"

He nodded, beaming at her as he replied, "Yes. I once thought no one could persuade me to be anything but an old bachelor. But then I met you—I grew to care for you, so much—I can't imagine my life without you."

"You're saying that you—?"

"Yes. Would you be my wife?"

Catherine stared at him, excitement and confusion filling her mind.

"You're—you're asking me—?"

"I'm begging," Thomas said, helping her down from the chair. "Please, end my torment. Marry me."

"Tommy, surely this isn't what you want?"

"I want nothing else." He took her in his arms, his face fierce with emotion. "I love you."

"You—you…" She breathed, slowly sliding her hands over his face, gripping his beard.

And then she was kissing him. Violently—passionately—kissing him as though her life depended on it. And he was kissing her back—strong, desperate kisses. And it was wonderful, and birds were singing, and sunrays were shining through the windows, and the world was ablaze with a blinding light…

* * *

Catherine opened her eyes. There really was sunlight coming in through the windows—and birds really were chirruping outside. But everything else… was a dream.

For a second, the barest second, she was able to shut her eyes and see everything as it had been—a whirl of heat and emotion. But then it slipped away, and all that remained were fuzzy remembrances. All that lingered were memories of a dream that had never happened. Of something that would not happen.

Catherine stared at the ceiling of her room, listening to the early morning birds and the normal creaks of the house. She supposed it made sense, in a way. She _had_ been thinking about Thomas ever since he had left so unexpectedly yesterday. She had even gone to bed thinking about him, even after reading that stupid romance novel Isobel had lent her because she had said—that must have been it. Thoughts of Thomas and that idiotic book had somehow collided while she slept. That was all. And at any rate, she did not know if he could kiss like that so the whole dream was just nonsense.

In the privacy of her room, Catherine blushed. What a silly thing to think about, kissing the prince of the country. And yet… she had to admit that moment in the rain—the man holding her in his arms—had come to her thoughts far too often to be brushed aside.

She bit her lip, murmuring, "It all seemed so real. He—it felt like he was telling the truth—I could feel him—I could hear him. He was right there and—no. No, he'd never—Tommy would never say something like that. We're friends, we're not—not courting or anything. It was all just a dream. A stupid, silly fantasy. It never happened."

Despite her own assurances, however, Catherine had soon dressed, crept out of her room, and went downstairs to bake muffins. Baking helped her to relax, keeping her hands busy while her mind was free to wander. She loved baking. She adored the concept of mixing ingredients together; she delighted in the smell of bread rising; she floated on the steam wafting off a new pastry as she pulled it from the oven. She wondered if his beard really would tickle…

Catherine dropped the bowls she had been holding, closing her eyes. "No. _No_. Katie, get a grip on yourself. It was just a dream."

Besides, Catherine thought as she set the bowls on the counter, the man had seemed so upset yesterday he would probably never come back. Wow. That thought was not supposed to hurt so much.

"But why was Tommy upset?" The girl asked herself, stoking the oven's fire into stronger heat. "Just because I scolded him for reading my mail? Granted, it was rude, but he should know I wasn't really angry with him."

She returned to the counter and measured out the correct amount of flour, dumping it into the bowl. "It's not as if it said anything important, anyway. It was only from Jerome."

Catherine cracked two eggs over the bowl, expertly getting all yolk and no shell. She then poured in sugar, a pinch of salt, and went over to the icebox for the milk. A few minutes' worth of muttering and mixing later, she had nearly finished filling out the first batch of muffins.

"Honestly," she told the inside of the oven, sliding in the pan, "you would think he'd realize how much this bothers me."

Catherine straightened and peered into the bowl of batter. She had enough for another pan of muffins. Best put in some chocolate shavings or Georgiana would be disappointed.

The girl took hold of a chair and pulled it to the counter, climbing atop to search a corner cabinet. Footsteps behind her made Catherine freeze. Oh no. No, this cannot be happening—

"Katie, what are you doing up this early on a Friday?"

"Mother!" Catherine turned around, clutching a block of chocolate to her chest. "You scared me."

Lady Marie squinted at her daughter sleepily, adjusting the folds of Lord Brian's bathrobe about herself. "You woke your father up with all the racket you're making. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm just—just baking." She got down from the chair and retrieved a cutting board, bringing it over to the table.

"Baking?"

"Yes. Muffins. Would you like one?"

Lady Marie glanced over at the oven, replying, "Considering they're not even done yet, I'll wait."

"I was going to mix in some chocolate for Georgiana," her daughter said, setting the chocolate onto the cutting board.

"She'll like that."

Catherine nodded, getting out a small, very sharp cleaver and striking a piece off the block. This piece she set aside and wrapped the remainder back up in its paper to return it to the cupboard. She came back to the table to find her mother already carefully breaking up the chocolate into bite-sized bits.

"Mother, that's my job."

"Dear girl, you only bake when you're preoccupied," Lady Marie said, "I'd rather not let you work with anymore sharp instruments until I'm certain you can focus."

Catherine frowned, retorting, "Of course I can focus."

"Katie, the fire beneath the oven is dying."

"Oh dear!" Catherine hurried over to the oven and added in more wood, trying to keep it hot. "No, no—stay warm. Come on, I've just given you a lot of wood."

"Too much wood," Lady Marie said.

Her daughter removed a large stick from the fire. "Probably so."

Lady Marie finished cutting the chocolate piece, asking, "Now are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or do I have to guess?"

"Could we just not talk about this right now, please?" Catherine said, standing up.

She tilted her head, responding slowly, "If that's what you want, yes."

"That's what I want."

"Okay then. Anyway, I should tell you that Lizzie and I are going out today because George has business to attend to up at the palace. Do you want to come along?"

Catherine thought the question over, and then remembered that she had met Thomas downtown one too many times in the past. She shook her head. "No, thank you. I think I'd better stay here and keep the girls and Daddy company."

"Very well. Everyone will be awake in half an hour or so." Lady Marie looked at her again, asking, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes ma'am."

Her mother smiled. "Good. I'll see you in a little while. I've got to go dress before George wakes up."

"He won't care, Mother."

"Seeing his mother-in-law in her nightgown? Oh, he'll care, Katie. Trust me." Lady Marie left the kitchen. Catherine could hear her going up the stairs and walking along the hallway overhead. Sighing, she went over to sweep the chocolate pieces into the rest of the muffin batter.

* * *

After breakfast, Lady Marie and her eldest departed for the marketplace, taking Emma and Jane to drop them off at the school downtown. George took a cab up to the palace for some boring meetings about sheep and the affairs of Dean. The rest of Catherine's family remained at home, Lord Brian disappearing to his office, and the twins and Georgiana playing with the dollhouse upstairs. Catherine chose to stay back in the kitchen to clean up, and, after finishing the dishes, decided to bake again.

It appeared to be that kind of day.

She was kneading a lumpy mass of dough, puffs of flour rising to rest on her cheeks and in her hair, when someone knocked on the front door. She stopped, recognizing the sound. No, she had to be mistaken. It could not possibly be—but who else knocked like that?

He knocked again, and Catherine immediately yelled, "Georgiana, get the door!"

"What?" her sister screamed back.

"The door—someone's at the door!"

"But we're busy with a tea-party!"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Then stop and get the door!"

"Katie, just get the door!" Lord Brian ordered. Evidently the knocking and the shouting-match were getting annoying.

She sighed, replying, "Yes, Daddy."

Smoothing down her apron, Catherine entered the hallway. The knocking had stopped now, but she could see a tall form through the curtained windows near the entrance. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Then she barely poked her head out to see who was knocking.

Of course, it was Thomas, standing with his back to the door. He must have heard the hinges squeak, however, because he turned around. A smile spread across his face.

"Good morning."

"Hello, Tommy." Her eyes flicked down to the bouquet of red roses in his hand. "What are those for?"

"What? Oh—um, right, you would ask that question." He glanced at the flowers, thinking fast. "Well, circumstances being what they are… I just—I was—they're for you." Thomas thrust them in her direction.

She did not take the flowers, and instead asked, "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated, puzzled at the question.

Catherine nodded, opening the door a little wider. "Yes, why did you bring me flowers?"

"It's a—an apology."

The girl frowned, taking the roses away from him. They were new roses—clearly the first of the season. They smelled wonderful.

Thomas cleared his throat, continuing, "Cat, I'm sorry for how I behaved yesterday. I shouldn't have left so abruptly especially after your family opened up your home to Freddy and I."

"No, it's all right. You had work," she said, knowing full well that this was not quite true.

"I—I had some. But really, I was just—just—" he inhaled loudly. "I was embarrassed because you caught me reading your mail. That was very ungentlemanly of me and I felt awful about it. I apologize for that and promise not to intrude upon your privacy again."

Catherine smiled, asking, "That's why you left?"

Thomas shrugged. "Among other reasons. I also had a personal matter to, erm, take care of—but it's all cleared up now."

"No more issues to deal with?"

He gazed at her, the expression on his face softening. "Not in that area, no."

Catherine looked down at the flowers, saying shyly, "Well, thank you very much. Who told you roses was my favorite?"

"No one. The gardeners were just snipping them and I thought you'd like some." Really, it had been his cousin's suggestion, but he was not going to tell her that.

Catherine's smile widened, and she started for the hallway. "I need to put these in water. Hold on." She looked over her shoulder, "Come in and close the door behind you, please."

Thomas did as asked, saying quickly, "I—I can't stay long. I've got a meeting downtown at the guardhouse."

"I'll be back in a minute," she called, going into the kitchen and placing the bouquet on the table. Relief ran through her. Everything was all right. The man had just been embarrassed—not angry with her. Thank goodness all was back to normal. He even seemed happier than usual, for some reason.

Catherine fingered the beautiful roses Thomas had brought her, smiling at them. Then she caught sight of herself in the reflection of a silver pitcher and saw the flour dusting her face and hair. Her mouth fell open in horror. What on earth was she thinking, going out to see him like that? She was so dirty from all her baking, and he had not even said a word about it.

"That's just like him too!" Catherine said, rushing over to the sink to wash her face and hands. "And naturally he looks fantastic—that has to be a new jacket. I haven't seen him wear it before…"

Finally composed, she came back to the front hall and saw Thomas looking at the many watercolors and pictures posted on the walls. She noticed the quiet grin under his mustache as he admired her and her sisters' childhood artwork. Yes, today he seemed much calmer, much more content than he had the previous day.

She came up to him, saying, "Thank you again, for your apology. When you left yesterday, I thought I had done something wrong."

Thomas shook his head, turning to look at her. "No, I was at fault there. After all, it's not polite to read other people's letters, both for the writer and the receiver."

"Well, Jerome probably wouldn't mind. He's a rather nice fellow."

"Jerome?" Thomas frowned, not recognizing the name.

Catherine nodded. "Yes. The astronomer—I met him at Dean during the week before Lizzie's wedding. He works in the city library."

There was still confusion on his face, and her eyes narrowed. "How much of that letter did you read, exactly?"

"Only the first page, I suppose."

She smiled again. "Then you read about his discovery? It's really very exciting. Apparently the field of astronomy is very competitive, so it's good he found this star. He'll have all sorts of employment opportunities now. And he'll be able to marry his girlfriend, Esther."

"Girlfriend?" he asked, surprise in his voice.

Catherine watched him uncertainly. "Yes. He named the star after her. Do you not remember?"

"I—I never got that far, actually."

Then she suddenly saw something she had not noticed before. The slightest tenseness in his jaw was disappearing, and his shoulders were no longer quite so rigid. Catherine's eyes widened as realization struck her. He had thought that she and Jerome—oh no.

"Tommy, you—you didn't think that I—"

He did not say anything, allowing her to trail off. She swallowed, shaking her head. "Because we're not. We're just—"

Thomas was still looking at her very intently. Too intently.

"You weren't jealous, were you?" Catherine asked without thinking, and then added hastily, "Because if you were then that would be silly. I mean, I can be friends with the both of you just fine."

"Right," Thomas said, sounding a bit hoarse.

"I don't play favorites."

"Naturally not."

"Exactly."

They both cleared their throats awkwardly and looked everywhere but at each other.

"Um, don't you have somewhere you need to get to?" Catherine asked.

He looked at his pocket watch, muttering, "The guardhouse. Yes, you're correct. I need to get going or I'll be late."

Thomas had started for the door when he turned around suddenly, asking, "Can I come over this evening?"

"This evening?"

"Yes. Not for dinner or anything like that but—but just to see youaaand your family." He had crammed the words together in an effort not to sound too eager.

Catherine set her hand on the side table. "I—yes, I don't think my parents would mind."

"Great."

"And the girls—the girls missed you a lot yesterday and they'll like to see you again. Not to say I didn't miss you too, it's just I—oh…" she faltered, feeling a blush creeping up into her face.

"It'd be wonderful to see them again," Thomas said, smiling.

She coughed. "Good. Um, you've got to go, don't you?"

"Yes."

"But I'll—_we'll_ see you this evening?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll be here."

"Good."

"Quite."

Thomas paused by the door, still looking at her. Then, fumbling with the handle, he said, "Goodbye, Cat. I'll return later today."

"Goodbye. And thank you for the roses! They're lovely."

He opened the door, his blue eyes almost shining in the morning sunlight. "I'm very happy that you liked them." And he was gone.

Catherine stared at the place Thomas had just been, trying to remember when she had ever felt this tongue-tied when talking to him. Never. She had never felt that way before.

She turned to go back to the kitchen, asking, "What just happened?"


	21. A waltz quickens

**Author Note**: Sorry for taking so long to get this one out! School starts back this week and I've been busy with the packing and the traveling and the hugs and kisses goodbye :D hope ya'll don't mind! Anyway, not much to say here 'cept because I'm back at school, things are probably going to slow down on the update front a bit. Hopefully not too slow, but we'll see. Wishing all of you guys a very happy school year! Thank you for your patience, for reading, faving, following, and reviewing! You guys are great!

P.S. There is a good story one of my reviewers (SmellofRoses) is writing and I think she deserves a few more readers! It's in Fairy Tales, and I think it sounds pretty good so far! definitely go check it out, please, if you don't mind! :D Oh, and it's called "Will You Find Me In The Vineyards?"

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story. By the way, I totally borrowed "Oh my giddy aunt" from Gnomeo and Juliet (Touchstone Pictures, Rocket Pictures, and Arc Productions; distributed by Disney) the line made me laugh too much not to use it :D

* * *

Nearly three weeks had passed, and Thomas had visited the woman he loved almost every single day. He had brought her two more bouquets of roses, giving the excuse that they were to replace their wilting predecessors. He had also started dressing sharper, taking Ferdinand's advice on what he wore, and keeping his hair and whiskers carefully groomed. He watched her more often, his eyes and compliments revealing the strength of his admiration. And he began to develop the talent of communicating his feelings without actually saying anything at all.

Catherine was unsure how to respond at first, finding the changes attractive but, at the same time, strange. It was not until halfway through the first week that the confusion slowly turned into pleasure. By week two, she started to spend more time in front of the mirror, brushing her hair and choosing her clothing more carefully. She looked forward to his visits, waiting at the window for sight of his horse. Coupled with this anticipation were the odd, burning pricks of jealousy she felt when work or family affairs kept him away. But then week three came around, and Catherine was having trouble convincing herself that she and the prince were still 'just friends'.

Occupied by these thoughts, Catherine walked beside Isobel as they returned home from an unsuccessful shopping trip. Isobel was fuming, both at the prices of gowns and at the prince of Orae's recent letter. Catherine, being the good friend that she was, tried to listen. It was just that Thomas and all the possibilities he now brought kept getting in the way.

"It's as if the whole world is against me, Katie! Seriously, what with those rotten merchants from Florence and Geoff being so stupidly responsible, I'm surprised I haven't been struck by lightning yet." Isobel groaned, staring up at the cloudless sky.

Catherine shook her head. "Geoffrey's just staying up there another week. He probably has a lot of work to do at home."

"_That_ much work though, Katie? Surely he can't have so much that he can't come for a visit."

Catherine had to agree, although admittedly she was thinking about a different prince.

Isobel sighed, asking, "I'm being terribly clingy, aren't I? Just like Patricia."

"You're not clingy. You just miss him and that's very understandable," Catherine said, remembering it had been three days since she had last seen Thomas, which was three days too long.

"Do you think so?" Isobel looked at her hopefully. "Because I _do_ miss him, Katie. I miss Geoff so much and I love him and I just want him to be here with me! I mean, what does Orae have that I don't?"

"Mountains."

Isobel frowned at the front of her dress, muttering, "I've got mountains plenty. It's just those idiot dressmakers in Florence who think showcasing them is worth an Auxurian fortune."

"Orae also has goats," Catherine said, rolling her eyes.

"I can get a goat," her friend responded as they neared Lord Brian's house.

"And where would you keep it?"

"In my bedroom."

Catherine smirked, predicting, "It'll eat everything, including your showcase dresses. Don't get a goat, Isobel."

She nodded. "I suppose you're right. And I suppose I need to stop complaining and just tell Geoff I'm behind him a hundred percent."

Catherine opened the gate to her front yard. "There's a good girl. You're better than Patricia already."

"Patricia's luckier, though. Salisbury isn't half as far away as Orae is," Isobel said, walking along the path. "And I bet all the girls in Orae are much prettier than I am too. Thank goodness Geoff is terrible with women or I really would have something to worry about."

This last sentence was lost on Catherine due to her noticing the bouquet of roses on the bottom step. She knelt and picked it up, smiling.

"I mean he's absolutely awful, Katie. I don't even know how we ended up together but—what is that?"

"Hmm?" She looked up, inhaling the flowers' fragrance.

Isobel pointed at the roses. "Those right there—who are those for?"

Catherine did not answer and instead turned deliberately to go into the house.

Isobel's eyes widened. "Katie, you're hiding something. Who are those for?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do and—oh, there's a note. You dropped a note."

Catherine gasped and hastily ran back outside. Isobel had picked up the note and was examining the handwriting, a grin stretching across her face. Catherine made a lunge for the paper, but her friend easily slipped out of the way.

"Katie, this is a _man's_ handwriting. Who on earth is sending you flowers?"

"No one! Isobel, give that," she tried again to snatch the note away, "back! It's not yours!"

"Maybe I'll just read it since you won't tell me?" Isobel laughed, unfolding the paper to read aloud, "'Dear Cat, I came around to drop these off and'—wait, doesn't the prince call you—hey!"

Catherine succeeded in snatching the note from her friend. "That's mine, thank you very much!"

Isobel folded her arms, asking, "So the prince of the country is bringing you roses?"

"Yes, he is, but only because the other ones he gave me are starting to wilt." She entered the house, trying to ignore the delighted gasps that followed her to the kitchen.

"He's given you roses before? How am I just now hearing about this?"

Catherine set the roses and note on the kitchen table, shaking her head. "It's only been recently. And anyway, it's not your business who brings me flowers or—or anything."

Isobel raised her eyebrows, retorting, "Katie, this is the man whom you swore to everyone was just a friend. Friends don't give friends roses if said friends are an unattached man and woman!"

"How do you know?"

"It's common knowledge. And—you know what?" Isobel sat down at the table, gazing at the flowers. "I've just realized that Geoff's never sent me flowers before… I should tell him I like magnolias."

"They don't have magnolias in Orae."

"Or in Corona. I'd just like to watch him tear the world apart to find them."

Catherine narrowed her eyes as she filled a vase with water. "That's mean, Isobel."

Isobel shook her head firmly, correcting, "No, what's mean is that you are being courted by the prince and you haven't told me anything!"

"Tommy's not courting me."

"He's bringing you roses."

"That doesn't mean anything," she said, starting to separate the roses out to trim the stems.

Isobel snorted, "Oh, you're such an awful liar, Katie. What's going on?"

Catherine carefully selected a few flowers, clipping them shorter. "If you must know, Tommy's been coming over more often. And he's been bringing roses, and dressing nicer. And saying things that may—may not be strictly platonic."

"He's trying to woo you," her friend said, her eyes gleaming mischievously.

"I don't know if that's quite it." Catherine slid the cut roses into the water and began to cut another.

"Well what do you think it is?"

She snipped the scissors, muttering, "I think he's… considering."

"Considering?"

"Yes. I think he's debating the possibility with himself."

"So what are you doing?"

She hesitated, and then said, "I'm waiting for him to make up his mind."

Isobel shrieked so loudly that Catherine almost lost a finger. "YES! Oh, you do like him, don't you? You probably just want to grab his beard and snog him senseless."

Catherine felt her face turn red. "I don't want—no! Isobel I don't want to snog him or—or anything like that. I just want to figure out what he wants."

Isobel frowned. "I thought you knew what he wants."

"I know what I _think_ he wants. I don't actually know _what_ he wants."

"Well what do you want?"

"Could we just stop talking about 'wanting' for a second here?" Catherine asked, clipping the final roses.

Isobel gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry. It's just all so very exciting. I mean, I've been waiting forever for you to realize you like the prince."

"It hasn't been _forever_."

"Might as well be, by today's standards. It's as if you and the prince are waltzing while the rest of us are doing a Midlander jig. And I'm not the only one who thinks so, because I remember Eira saying that—"

Catherine let out a sigh and took the roses over to the window, setting them on the sill next to their predecessors. The last bouquet was barely fading, and the first roses had started to turn brown, but she could not bring herself to toss them. At this rate she was going to run out of vases.

Behind her, Isobel was still talking. "Besides, everyone thinks you two make such a cute couple. You're fantastic dance partners, you share similar likes and dislikes. The prince is rich and royal, your family is well-to-do. _And_ he's not bad-looking and you're beautiful so whatever kids you end up with are bound to—"

"Kids? Really?" Catherine turned around, bewildered. "Isobel don't—don't even go there right now."

She shrugged. "Okay, if you insist. But when do you think he'll make his move?"

Catherine rubbed her arm, murmuring, "He's already made so many moves I can hardly keep up. It's just like chess."

Ignoring the chess comment, Isobel set her chin in her hands. "It'll probably be at a party. Maybe one at the palace, and you'll both be in the garden, gazing up at the moon. And he'll take you in his arms and say how much he adores you. And how much he wants you to be his, and—"

"Not to get your hopes up but there _is_ a party at the palace on Friday," Catherine said, recalling that Thomas had mentioned the maids' furious onslaught on the banquet hall.

"That's it then!" Isobel exclaimed, beaming at her. "That's when he'll tell you!"

"Probably not. I haven't even been invited yet."

"Well, when you do get invited—and you will—can I tag along? We can ride up together in my coach."

Catherine tilted her head. "Are you offering because you want to spy on me or because Geoffrey's gone?"

"Both. Mostly because Geoff's gone and I want company. But—I also want to go to a party and those bashes they throw at the palace are legendary."

"I'll see about it."

"Thank you. Oh, and are you going to read your note or can I read it?"

"What?"

Isobel dangled the note in front of her, and Catherine grabbed it back.

"Give me that." She started to read, and a smile began to cross her lips. "Tommy said he came by but no one answered the door. He said he'll try to come over again but he doesn't know—"

There was a sudden, familiar knocking at the front door. Catherine, who had been fairly calm up until that moment, dropped her note and felt her heartbeat quicken.

"Oh my giddy aunt he's here!"

Isobel made a face. "Your giddy what?"

"Never mind. I'll just—I need to go out and see him." She took a few steps towards the hallway, uncertain. Then she came back to check her reflection in the silver pitcher.

Isobel watched her friend, grinning. "My word, you're flustered. You look fine, by the way."

"I know but—just—," Catherine took a deep breath.

"Go out and see him!"

"I will, I just—I—what are you going to be doing?"

Isobel shrugged. "I was going to stay here and admire your roses. But if you want, I can go out and tell him that—"

"No. You stay here. And don't you dare say anything!"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But make sure to tell him I want to go to the party. I need to be on the list."

Catherine nodded, saying, "All right. Fine. I—what do I say?"

"'Hello Handsome', for a start. Now get out there!"

* * *

Catherine entered the hallway hesitantly, hoping that she did not appear as nervous and excited as she felt. She saw that Emma had already let the prince inside, and that Thomas was wearing some kind of uniform. Both he and the girl were talking as she approached.

"Katie really likes it when you bring her flowers," Emma said, looking up at the man.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Does she? Well I'm glad to hear that."

"I like getting flowers too."

A small smile crossed his face, and he asked, "Would you like me to bring you some flowers, Emma?"

She grinned, nodding. "If it's not too much trouble. I like purple flowers—and blue ones."

"I'll see what my gardeners can find."

"Emma," Catherine began, coming closer, "don't you have some schoolwork to be doing?"

"I was doing it but no one was answering the door," Emma replied.

Catherine sighed. "Thank you for answering the door. Now get back upstairs and do your schoolwork."

Emma pouted, "Katie, why do you have to be so bossy?"

"Go now, or I'll tell Mother you've been trying out Frieta's facepaints without asking."

"Fine." Her sister turned and began to stomp upstairs, muttering, "But Frieta's not here to use them anyway so I don't see why it matters."

Catherine shook her head, apologizing, "I'm sorry she—she's Emma. Ever since she hit thirteen she thinks she's all grown up."

"Well isn't she?" Thomas asked.

She gave him a sarcastic look, and he shrugged. "Apparently not. Anyway, did you get your roses? I left them on the porch but it seems someone has made off with them."

Catherine laughed. "No one's made off with them. They're in the kitchen next to the others, and they look very pretty."

"Good. Now, I have a question for you." He backed up a few steps and stood straighter, asking, "What do you think? Do I look like an idiot or do I just feel like one?"

She considered the man, taking in his overall appearance. Thomas was wearing a finely-cut tunic of dark blue. It was belted tight at the waist with the lower panels of the shirt resting neatly on his grey breeches. The uniform pulled taut across his broad shoulders, emphasizing the span of his chest; his collar was simple but dignified, buttoned securely at the throat with a golden, sun-shaped badge. There were also gold ribbons marking his shoulders to define his rank, and a thin, sheathed small sword at his waist. His military-issued dress boots were of highly polished black leather, and they squeaked an audible newness as he adjusted his stance.

Catherine then realized that her mouth was slightly open, and shut it quickly. "I think you look fine."

Thomas frowned in disappointment. "Fine?"

"I mean—you look very handsome."

"Really? You think I'm handsome?" He smirked, raising an eyebrow.

She smiled, replying, "All girls like a man in uniform. But don't let it go to your head or your helmet won't fit."

His eyes widened and he snapped his fingers. "Oh right! I haven't even showed you the best part yet."

"Best part? What do you mean best—oh dear." The man had taken a gleaming, blue-feathered helmet from the side table and placed it on his head.

Catherine stared at him, amazed that even a minor thing such as a poorly designed helmet could ruin a handsome man. Then the prince grinned, and her eyes narrowed.

"What are you—you know you look stupid! Take that off!" Catherine exclaimed, even as Thomas laughed. It was such a deep, infectious laugh she had trouble maintaining a stern expression.

"It's part of the uniform," he chuckled, obediently removing the helmet.

"And it looks ridiculous—besides, you shouldn't wear a hat indoors."

Still smiling, Thomas glanced ruefully at his headgear. "I know. It really is a stupid design. But it's what they have."

"Maybe you can change it once you take the throne?" she suggested hopefully.

"Do you want me to?"

Catherine nodded. "Please. For the sake of all of the other officers."

"Very well. I will do my best."

"Good. Now," she nodded at him, turning her finger in a circle, "let me see the back."

"Why do you want to see the back?" he asked, turning around.

"To make sure that all is… in order," Catherine muttered, studying him. "Ah, your collar's sticking up."

Thomas cocked his head. "So I do look stupid? Thanks, Cat."

"Hold still. I'll get it for you."

Catherine stood on tiptoe and carefully fixed the back of his collar. Then, pretending to smooth down the back of his shirt, she ran her hands over his shoulders. She could feel the strength that he had there—the firm muscles tensing slightly under her fingertips—the way his back rose powerfully as he breathed. And he smelled _brilliant_, like fresh air and the dusty aroma of stables. What she would give to just bury her nose in his back!

"What's wrong?" Thomas asked, evidently puzzled by the time it took to fix a collar.

Catherine shook her head. "Nothing. You just had something on your shirt."

He turned around, musing, "That's strange. This is a new uniform, fresh from the royal tailor's."

"Never know with tailors."

"Appears so." He smiled at her, his gorgeous blue eyes affectionate and inviting.

Catherine glanced to the side, asking, "Anyway, isn't there some kind of party going on at the palace this Friday?"

"I'm assuming you're talking about the Annual Military Gala? Yes, it's one of the biggest events of the year and it is on Friday. That's partly why I'm dressed like this—the army is doing parade practice today and all soldiers are to be in dress uniform."

"When is the parade?"

"Friday morning. We'll be marching along the wharf and through downtown before making a sharp turn at the guardhouse. The gala starts at seven in the evening. Will you be able to make it?" he asked.

She shrugged, replying, "I'd like to be. But I'm afraid I haven't received an invitation to the party yet. Nor has my ride."

"Your ride?"

"My friend, Isobel, Prince Geoffrey's girlfriend. She said I could ride up in her coach to the palace if we were sent invitations."

The prince inclined his head, promising, "I will make very, very sure that you and Miss Isobel receive the invitations. And your parents, of course. And her parents and, you know, everybody's parents."

"Thank you, Tommy."

"You're welcome, Cat dear."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Thomas coughed, correcting, "Sorry. I mean—'you're welcome, Cat'. I—I misspoke."

"Did you really?" Catherine asked, a slow smile crossing her face. She quite liked that 'dear' added on at the end, no matter how unintentional it had been.

Thomas coughed again, his ears turning red as he stammered, "Ahem, I've—I've got to go before Captain Dansk penalizes me for tardiness."

"You could get in trouble?" Catherine asked, finding the idea of the crown prince getting polishing duty peculiar.

Thomas nodded. "Yes, I could, and it'd be all your fault."

"How is it my fault if you're late?"

"Because it would be. Good day, Cat." He opened the front door and stepped out.

Catherine stared at his departing form before calling: "Hold on a minute—" she came to the door, watching as he turned to walk backwards, looking at her. "I never thanked you for the roses."

"Dance with me at the gala and that will be thanks enough," he said.

She laughed. "All right. As long as you don't wear that ridiculous helmet."

"What helmet? This?" Thomas slipped the helmet on his head once more, grinning cheekily.

"Yes, that one! Take it off!" she pleaded.

"No, take it all off!"

Thomas looked at Catherine quickly, but she shook her head. "I did not say that."

"Yoohoo! Prince Thomas!"

Both Catherine and the prince turned to see Edna and Edith Marigold sitting in the neighboring yard. The ladies waved at Thomas, beaming at him.

He doffed his helmet to them, saying clearly, "Good afternoon, ladies. You both are looking beautiful today."

One the women laughed. "Oh, please, dear boy, how you go on!"

"He's such a charmer, Edith!"

"I know, Edna, I know!" Edith looked over the fence towards Lord Brian's front porch. "Watch out Katie! Your beau will flirt with every girl he meets!"

Catherine smiled, replying, "He's not my beau, Ms. Marigold. He's just a friend. A really, really good friend."

Edna nodded, calling back: "A really good-looking friend! Better hurry soon, Katie, or he'll be stolen off the market before you can blink!"

"You know they're right, Cat," Thomas said, smirking at her. "I am devastatingly handsome and there are a lot of girls who'd love to get a piece of me."

"Only if you can't outrun them," Catherine retorted, waving her hand. "Now go! You don't want to be late for practice."

"Goodbye, lovely ladies!" Thomas said, dropping a deep bow to the Marigolds and earning several giggles in the process. He smiled at Catherine, saying, "See you at the gala. I can't wait to dance with you again."

"Goodbye." She leaned against the doorpost, smiling as the man exited the yard and climbed onto his horse, Maximilian. Thomas kicked the horse into an impressive gallop and had nearly disappeared when Isobel appeared at Catherine's side.

"Dear me, was that flirting I heard, Katie?"

"Go away, Isobel," her friend said mildly, returning indoors.

Isobel followed, remarking, "And he's dressed in uniform too! He looked _good_."

"I noticed."

"I noticed you noticed. Did you get me an invite?"

Catherine sighed. "Yes, I did. And now I need to go check on my sisters and make sure they are doing their schoolwork."

"I'll be waiting in the sitting room," Isobel replied, watching as her friend began to ascend the staircase. "We can discuss the prince when you get back."

"Maybe."

"_Maybe_?"

Catherine laughed, responding, "Fine then! We'll talk till his ears are burning!" She continued up the steps, whispering, "After all, his ears look cute when they turn red."


	22. Andrea

**Author Note**: So... hi you guys :) hope you are well! And yes, I have not updated since August, because that's when school started back up :P Last semester hopefully though! :D yay! Anyhoo, this is somewhat of a Valentine's Day Chapter (day after Valentine's Day) and therefore there is kissing :D Because kissing means romance, right? :D hahaha Thank you guys for reading and favving and reviewing and following and all that jazz! Hope you all have a great Sunday! :D

P.S. I don't know when the next time an update will come around, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. DW reference for the win!

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

The prince of Corona was in his bedchamber, studying himself in a floor-length mirror. His hair had been combed, his beard trimmed, and his face washed clean. The uniform was in order, deep blue with gold ribbons at the shoulders. His breeches were different from those he wore in the parade, though. These were darker and had a slim, golden stripe running down the sides. Thomas was still not sure about that.

He turned, his stockinged feet passing smoothly across the floor as he took a straight-backed, military stance and examined his new breeches. Not too stupid, then.

Satisfied, Thomas went over to his armchair and sat down to pull on his boots. He had just started when Frederick entered the room.

"Got to borrow your mirror, Goliath. Mine's too small." His cousin marched over and began to pose in front of his own reflection.

"You do know we have to be down there in a few minutes to welcome the first guests?" Thomas asked, glancing up to see that his cousin had not finished putting on his uniform. "You don't even have your tunic on yet."

"That's because I stowed my uniform in your clothes closet."

"What? When did you do that?"

"When I discovered my closet was too short and made my suits all wrinkly. Tell me, do these britches make me look fat?" He turned, frowning at his backside.

"Yes, and so does your head."

Frederick's eyes narrowed. "You know, Goliath, you should be nicer to me. The amount of time I've spent these last few weeks covering for you…"

Thomas leaned back in his chair, waving his hand dismissively. "Oh, it hasn't been that bad."

"Wot are you talking about? You've been scooting off to Kitty-cat's house every chance you get, posies in one hand and scribbled love poetry in the other."

"Cat prefers roses and I don't write love poems," Thomas retorted.

"Good because you'd be right awful," Frederick said, marching over to his cousin's wardrobe and rifling through its contents.

Thomas had to fight the urge to shove him in and close the doors and instead settled for the reply: "You know, I _have_ been working nearly this entire week."

"You call clipping about town with that pretty gal from Florence work?" Frederick asked, finally locating his uniform.

Thomas nodded. "When she's the daughter of the best surveyor in the world, yes, I call it work."

"I'd call it tiptoeing the two-timing line," Frederick said.

"You know it's nothing like that, Freddy. She's a nice girl but all I'm trying to do is flatter her enough to convince her father to move his business to the capital."

"How is flattering her going to convince her da to come here?" his cousin asked, pulling on his tunic.

"She's got him wrapped about her little finger. Father told me the man talked of nothing else but his daughter when he met him last year. So, if I get her to like the capital, she'll say," the prince cleared his throat, finishing squeakily, "'Oh Daddy we simply _must_ move there!'"

Frederick's head poked up beyond the collar of his shirt, displaying a raised eyebrow. He finished straightening his uniform, remarking, "It's a good thing you never went into playacting because your little girl voice sounds like a seagull."

Thomas made a face. "I'm just trying to explain myself so you don't get any wrong ideas."

"I know that, mate. I just," Frederick paused, critically adjusting his sleeves. He sighed, continuing, "The appearance may make other people start asking questions. And I don't want you to ruin the only chance I have of getting rid of you."

"I'll be perfectly fine," Thomas muttered, picking up a set of reports from the side table.

"Just be careful tonight, Goliath. Don't let work get in the way of other matters, and especially don't ignore Kitty-cat just because Miss Surveyor's Daughter is part of your business strategy."

"Of course I won't."

Frederick looked over his shoulder, seeing his cousin nose-deep in reports. "All right. Now wot did I just say?"

"Something about a business strategy?"

"_Goliath_."

"What?" Thomas asked, tapping the papers in his hand. "This is an important investment, Freddy. Father's trusting me to get this done."

"And wot about Kitty-cat?" Frederick crossed his arms.

"Well, I love her, and I highly doubt extra work is going to change that."

His cousin lifted his eyebrows again.

"Come on, Freddy, you know I could never ignore Cat. Everything will be perfectly fine, you'll see."

"Promise?"

"_Yes_," Thomas said, returning to his notes.

"Good. We won't have any problems then." Frederick gave himself another once-over in the mirror before asking, "Do you still have that cologne Rod gave you? I'd like to borrow it."

* * *

Catherine looked out of the window of Isobel's coach. She could see the lit windows of the palace rising up ever closer in the settling darkness. Her heart fluttered and she clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap.

"Almost there," Isobel said, beaming at her from the seat across.

"I know we are."

"Surprising how quickly the ride goes."

Catherine did not reply, leaving Isobel to add, "Although, not nearly as surprising as that dress you're wearing."

"You said it would look good on me."

Isobel nodded. "And I was right. Hoping to impress the prince?"

"Well, I'm certainly hoping he'll notice." Catherine tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It _was_ a bit of a daring dress. The neckline was cut somewhat low, and looked more akin to what Elizabeth would have preferred to wear to a party. Catherine had also let Frieta do her face paints, despite having to endure her younger sister's complaints about not being invited. Her own hands had been shaking too much and Frieta needed something to keep her from annoying the rest of the household. Catherine had forgotten it was a school holiday. She had forgotten a lot of things to be completely honest. Oh, what was she doing? This whole nonsense with Thomas and the party had become far overblown. She didn't even know if the man was inclined that way or not. And what if he wasn't? She had gotten herself all dressed up for no reason at all.

Isobel, watching these thoughts play out upon her friend's face, cleared her throat. "Katie, you're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Thinking too much. Stop."

Catherine turned to look at her friend, murmuring, "I can't help it. It's just—what if we're wrong? What if Tommy's just—I don't know—being a gentleman and not wanting to pursue anything except friendship? My word, I sound silly even saying that."

"No you don't. You sound like a woman who's responding to a man who wants to move on with the relationship. Embrace it, Katie. The prince likes you and you like him back. It's high time something happened."

"That's easy for you to say. You hardly knew Geoffrey when he started courting you. I've known Tommy for months and we've only ever been friends. How on earth am I supposed to act now that we're—now that things have changed?"

Isobel shrugged, replying, "Be adventurous, let your feelings show, and don't be afraid to ask him when he's going to talk to your father."

"That's not very helpful."

"Look, do you want my official opinion?"

Catherine considered the question, personally feeling that she had been getting Isobel's official opinion about everything since the moment she met her. But Catherine nodded.

Isobel smiled and took her hand. "My opinion is that the prince cares about you very much and has finally realized that if he doesn't make a move soon he'll lose you to some other fellow. So he's making a move, Katie. That's what the flowers were for, that's why he's been flirting with you and giving you those longing looks."

"He hasn't been giving me longing looks," Catherine said quickly.

"Give it time and he will. Trust me. As far as I know and as far as Geoff knew when I asked him a while back, the prince has never paid this much attention to a girl before. Clearly you're special and _clearly_ the prince thinks you deserve to be happy and wants to be the man who makes it happen."

Catherine felt a smile spreading across her face despite herself. She gave Isobel's hand a squeeze. "Thank you, Isobel."

"Always here for you," Isobel said, leaning back in her seat. "Mostly because Geoff can't stand to leave his work for a few days. I mean honestly, what is so important in Orae that he has to extend his time there?"

"Maybe there's something wrong."

"He'd tell me if there was. I've sent him somewhere up to fifteen letters."

"Fifteen?"

"Or twenty. I lost count around the eleventh note."

Catherine smiled and looked again out the window. The lights of the palace were closer now. Soon they would reach the courtyard, and then the party, and then she didn't know what was going to happen. She couldn't remember being this nervous about anything. But, perhaps, nothing had mattered this much before.

* * *

Catherine could not help but feel a little strange when she came into the entrance hall and saw it milling with fancy dresses and smart military uniforms. Just a few weeks previous she had seen the palace empty and austere on a normal business day. But now, under the handiwork and attentions of the royal decorators, everything appeared on a grander scale. The banisters gleamed with festive trappings bearing the royal sun crest. The marble floor was polished to a brilliant shine. Purple and gold flags draped down from the rafters, and heraldry-emblazoned shields retired centuries ago hung upon the walls. In the torchlight, Catherine spotted one shield she knew had come from the days when Corona and the Midlands were still united. It had a sun crest much like its fellows, but the sun was rising over a field of golden grain.

She smiled.

Isobel came up behind her, glancing around at the decorations suspended over the crowds of soldiers and dignitaries. "Well, they certainly like to go all out here, don't they?"

"They can afford to," Catherine replied.

"Hmmm." Isobel leaned over, whispering, "Yes, I suppose so. Katie where is your beau?"

"He's not my beau."

"Fine. Almost-beau then."

"Probably attending to royal duties. This is only the entrance hall. The banquet hall should be—down that way." She indicated a passage leading to the west wing of the palace.

"Well, let's go."

"Wait. They're supposed to announce when we can come in."

"Dodger. I knew it was a mistake to arrive early." Isobel looked around, and then suddenly did a double take. Her mouth fell open.

"What's the matter?"

"That—that's Geoff's cousin!"

"Who?" Catherine looked to where Isobel was staring.

"That fellow over there—the tall man talking to Eira Lynn's father. But he's supposed to be in Orae!"

"What is he doing here?"

Isobel shook her head, her face determined. "I don't know but I'd bet my favorite shoes Geoff's involved somehow. I'll be right back, Katie. I'm going to have a few words with Roland."

Catherine watched as her friend marched directly over to Roland. Roland, who seemed uninterested with Sir Lynn's ramblings, chanced to spot Isobel out of the corner of his eye. His face immediately turned pale, and before Sir Lynn could stop him, Roland had hastily slipped into the crowd. Isobel almost as quickly gave chase.

"Oh dear. This will only end badly," Catherine said to herself, hoping that Isobel did not get them thrown out for tackling the relative of a foreign prince.

Though, she had to admit, Thomas could probably talk them out of that problem. She could imagine it now—some stuffed-up official fussing at her and Isobel for Roland's injuries, and then Thomas would be there. Tall, commanding, smiling as he calmly dismissed the official while taking her hand in his. What would he say? This woman is important to me, Minister So-and-so. Do not yell at her and her dear, if slightly pushy, friend. Yes, that's what would happen. And he'd laugh and look at her with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, and then lead her out onto the dance floor to be swept away in his arms…

Catherine nearly walked into a waiter, and she had to do an abrupt sidestep to avoid knocking over his tray of drinks. What on earth had happened? These daydreams were getting worse and far too strong. She needed to clear her head. Where had that waiter gone?

Over at the stairs, there was a trumpeting as a herald decked out in old-fashioned garb blew into his shining brass instrument. The crowd quieted, and Catherine turned around to watch the herald lower his trumpet and announce in a loud, clear voice: "Presenting His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Thomas of Corona, Prince of the Captive Isles and Duke of Kingsland, Lord of the Bay, Member of His Majesty's Most Honourable Council, Royal Knight of the Order of the Sun, and Honorary Lieutenant of His Majesty's Army."

There was applause and salutes as Thomas walked out from the left side of the staircase. He took care to stop five steps from the bottom to remain in the view of the crowd. He smiled and nodded, arms held down at his sides and his posture straight and befitting a prince. Catherine saw that he was wearing his military dress uniform, but instead of a helmet there was a simple, golden crown resting upon his brown hair. Despite its simplicity, the sight of the crown made Catherine pause. Of course Thomas had a crown—he was prince of the country. But she had never seen him wear one before and the addition changed his appearance dramatically. For the first time in a long while, Catherine realized she was looking at the future ruler of her homeland.

"Thank you, thank you," Thomas said as the clapping faded away. "It is a pleasure to be here tonight to celebrate the legacy and honor of Corona's military. My father will be making some remarks later this evening, but as heir to the throne and a member of the army, I wanted to say a few words."

He looked around, his expression growing serious even while the smile lingered. "Gratitude. Every citizen of this country, including those called to be its rulers, must acknowledge an immense gratitude and respect towards the men who are serving in our army and navy. Every day they lay down their lives for the protection and welfare of this land and its people. Not only on the field of battle but also in the towns and hamlets, and beyond to the expanse of the seas. Tonight, as we partake of the food and festivities, I would ask you to remember the men guarding Corona's cities and the sailors keeping watch over her interests in distant waters. And I ask you to thank them, as I am doing now. Thank you, every man who has served and is serving, and his family. Thank you for what you have done, for what you are doing, and for your sacrifice for Corona."

There was a moment of quiet as the men and women in the hall considered the prince's words. Catherine gazed up at Thomas's face, remembering the conversation they had held out on her father's rooftop months ago. Looking at him now, it was hard to imagine he had ever teased her with an inchworm out in the stable orchards. It was even harder to recognize the distance that actually existed between them. Painfully difficult.

Then the herald was blowing upon his trumpet again and directing the crowd to the banquet hall. People started moving, and Catherine had to bite her lip to keep from yelping when a heavy boot trod on her toes. Limping, she followed the flow of the multitude into the western passage. Isobel joined her seconds later.

"I lost Roland somewhere during the prince's speech. Not that my confounded shoes helped any. I tripped twice and accidentally sent an earl's wig flying into the face of a waiter." Isobel rolled her eyes, hissing, "I can't believe Roland is here, though. Something is up, Katie, something that Geoff most certainly—are you all right?"

"Hmm?"

"It's just—you've gone sort-of pale. Do you need a drink?"

"Probably. It was getting stuffy in there," Catherine replied, not meeting Isobel's eyes.

Her friend nodded. "No kidding. And some of those guests were wearing absolutely _awful_ perfume. I had to gag my way past one man."

They had reached the banquet hall by now and were being ushered in by servants. People were already gathering around the dance floor as the musicians began to ascend the corner stage and tune their instruments. Others were drawn to the tables, sitting down to continue conversations started in the hall or else begin sampling the food waiters offered them. There were, obviously, a lot of servicemen amongst the guests. Some were as old as General Josiah while others, like Thomas and his army comrades, were young and attracting the glances of the noble ladies of the capital. Nearly all the men were in uniform, and Catherine appreciated the general tidiness of dress. It _did_ make locating Thomas rather difficult, however.

"Oh Katie, there he is!"

Catherine turned, her heart leaping in her chest, but Isobel was shaking her head. "Wait—no, sorry. Big man but he doesn't have the prince's whiskers. My word, this is hard. Why in the name of sanity did they all have to dress the same?"

"Code of the military, I suppose," Catherine murmured, scanning the crowd once again. "Everything has to be neat and in order."

"Oh, I wish Geoff was here. He'd be tall enough he could see over the heads of some of these fellows."

"Isobel, I think," Catherine felt a smile spreading across her lips, "there he is."

Thomas was talking to a pretty blond girl next to one of the punchbowls. He saw Catherine and Isobel approaching and said something to the blond girl before making his way over. As he grew nearer, however, Catherine noticed that the blond girl did not walk away as if she had just finished a polite chat. Instead, she seemed to be _waiting_ for the prince's return.

She tried to not let this bother her as Thomas reached them. He made a deep bow, straightening as he said: "Welcome. It is a pleasure to see you again. You look lovely, Cat and Miss—um—" he frowned, raising his eyebrows in Catherine's direction.

"Isobel, your Highness," Isobel supplied, smiling. "Geoff—I mean the prince of Orae—is courting me if you remember."

"Right. Cat did mention something about that." Thomas flashed a grin at Catherine before turning to her friend. "Well you look lovely too, Miss Isobel."

"Oh thank you, your Highness," Isobel said, giving Catherine a nudge.

Catherine, who felt that the nudge was quite uncalled for, smiled up at Thomas. "Hello, Tommy, you look very nice as well. I must say, though, I was a bit surprised to learn that you were going to be speaking tonight."

His grin broadened. "Do you mean that little speech in the entrance hall? Father was supposed to do it but he had trouble finding his old uniform and couldn't make it down in time. I had to come up with something rather fast so I'm surprised people applauded."

"You shouldn't be. You did a good job."

"Why thank you, Cat. I appreciate it."

She smiled. "You're welcome."

Isobel coughed conspicuously and asked, "_So_, your Highness, any plans for the night? I'm certain there's going to be some dancing."

Catherine shot her friend a warning glare, which Thomas did not notice, and barely heard the prince's response. Thomas nodded. "Yes, there will be dancing, a little more speechmaking, and—" he looked over at the pretty blonde still waiting by the punchbowl. "Cat, I actually have a favor to ask you."

Catherine turned away from Isobel. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Can I ask you to do something for me?" Thomas said.

"Yes, of course. What is it?"

"There's someone I want you to meet. She's new in town, and I thought it'd be nice if you could talk to her, introduce her to some of your friends, that sort of thing. I'd do it myself but there's some barons and a duke or three I need to talk to and I also have to speak with Captain Dansk and his superior officer."

"Any—anything you need," she answered, suddenly realizing who that blond girl must be.

Thomas's grin reappeared on his face. "Brilliant. I'll just go get her."

As he walked back to the punchbowl, Isobel took Catherine's arm. "What does he mean by _someone_? Who is that girl? Why on earth does he think you'd let her follow you around all night?"

"Well I said yes," Catherine responded.

"I know. That was stupid. And anyway, what does the prince care about dukes? He's supposed to be paying attention to you!"

She rolled her eyes. "Isobel, shush. Tommy's busy and he has a lot of work to do. Besides, I—there was no reason to suspect he had intentions of any kind for tonight, especially regarding me."

"Intentions? The man brought you flowers, Katie!"

"Shhh."

Thomas was leading the girl over now, smiling warmly as she spoke to him. Catherine felt as if a dry, prickly creature were hissing in the pit of her stomach. She tried to ignore it as the man—who _had_ spent the last three weeks bringing her roses—finished escorting his attractive guest.

"I would like to introduce you to Miss Andrea of Florence. Her father is one of the foremost surveyors in Corona, and, I think," Thomas glanced at the girl, "has recently attained a new title?"

She smiled, dimples appearing in her cheeks. "Yes, your Highness. He's Lord Samuel now. The duke's council granted him the title on account of his services to the duchy."

"Yes. Good man, your father. Anyway, Miss Andrea, this is Cat or rather, Catherine, and her friend Isobel."

"How do you do?" Andrea asked, performing a perfect curtsey.

Catherine and Isobel curtseyed in return, replying in unison, "Very well, thank you."

Thomas beamed around at everybody. "Good. Now that we're all acquainted, I'm afraid I have some business I need to attend to. Miss Andrea, I promise to dance with you once I return."

She nodded. "Thank you, your Highness."

He bowed again. "Ladies."

Catherine watched as the prince strode away, feeling as though a stone had dropped and crushed the prickly creature in her stomach. She did not have much time to dwell on this discomfort, however, because Isobel had started asking questions.

"I'm so sorry," Isobel said, giving Andrea a sickly-sweet smile. "I must've missed it but—what was your name again?"

Andrea's dimples reappeared. "My name is Andrea, and I'm from Florence. My father had to come down on work and decided to take me along."

"But how do you know the prince, Andy?" Isobel asked, still sticky-sweet but with a slight edge to the question.

"It's Andrea, actually. I met the prince Tuesday when my father realized his schedule would prevent him from showing me around the city. His Highness kindly volunteered for the job, and has been a real gentleman in giving me a tour. He even showed me the palace tennis courts."

The stone in Catherine's stomach seemed to get heavier. Meanwhile, Isobel was saying, "The tennis courts, that's nice. And how do you like the capital?"

Andrea sighed, tilting her beautiful face towards the ceiling. "Oh, it's gorgeous. I especially like the harbor—we only have a lake near Florence—and the military parade this morning was wonderful. I didn't expect to be able to attend the gala, though, but the prince invited me. I was afraid I didn't have anything appropriate enough to wear."

"Well, we know you fashionable Florence girls always have something up your sleeve." Isobel smirked, adding under her breath, "_Or down your bodice_…"

That last comment snapped Catherine out of her miserable daze. She took Isobel by the elbow, asking loudly, "Isobel, why don't you go get us some punch?"

Her friend frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, very sure."

Isobel shrugged, glancing between the two other women. "All right, Katie, Andy. I'll just go dreg us up some punch."

Catherine let out breath she did not realize she was holding as Isobel strolled off to the punchbowls. Beside her Andrea said, "My word, I hope she doesn't plan on calling me 'Andy' all night."

"I apologize for that. Isobel's a bit—difficult to get to know first off."

"Miss Catherine, that's very kind of you but—"

"Please, call me Catherine or Katie. You don't have to add a 'Miss'," Catherine said, smiling at her.

Andrea returned the smile, and Catherine was half-pleased, half-disappointed to see that it was genuine. "Thank you. It's so lovely to be able to talk with ladies again. I've been alternating between sitting in on boring meetings with my father and the king's staff or else with the prince and his servant. Not that his Highness wasn't very nice, it just made me miss all my girlfriends back home."

Catherine laughed. "Yes, Tommy can be that way. He's very much a man's man."

Andrea raised her eyebrows in surprise. "'Tommy'? Is that what you call the prince?"

"Yes, but—a lot of people call him that."

Andrea shook her head. "It's just funny. But I suppose it makes sense given that he's your beau and all."

Catherine felt her face grow hot and she corrected, "He's not my beau."

"Really? I just assumed—"

"Oh, no—no, its just—we've been friends for a while now. Our mothers have known each other for years and—and 'Tommy' is just sort of a nickname. We're not courting or anything. We're just friends."

Andrea nodded slowly. "Well, then you two must be very close."

"We're not—not terribly close," Catherine replied, looking at the floor.

"He seems like a very nice man."

"He is."

"I'm surprised he's still eligible," Andrea remarked.

"I think he's just—he's not interested in that sort of thing," Catherine said, pushing thoughts of roses and compliments and rendezvous in the rain out of her mind. Deciding to choose a less complicated topic, she asked, "So you're from Florence? What's it like there?"

Andrea shrugged—she even _shrugged_ prettily—and answered, "It's home. Always has been, probably always will be. I've never known what it was like living outside of a big city. His Highness said your father was a farmer, though."

"Milk lord. Daddy owns several acres in the pasturelands and runs a large dairy farm."

"Did you ever live there? Out on the pasturelands?"

Catherine smiled. "I grew up there."

"What was it like?" Andrea asked, her eyes brightening.

"Different—very different from the city. There were less people and more animals and certainly no parties like this." Catherine looked around at the bustling crowd, once again feeling that distance opening up between herself and the prince. Thomas had been born to a life filled with dances and glamour and noble titles. She, on the other hand, had spent her childhood running around barefoot past grazing cows and romping in haylofts. It was only after the family had moved to the capital did she realize that being a 'proper lady' meant more than a clean face and good manners.

Catherine cast another glance at Andrea, who was now watching the dancers, and saw a young woman who had grown up in one of Corona's finest cities. She held herself confidently—was graceful and poised without trying—and her dress was made of an expensive material found only in Florence's best warehouses. Even though her father had recently become a member of the nobility, it was clear that Andrea's family was already very rich and very well connected.

It was while she was thinking about this that Thomas returned.

"Hello," he said, grinning at them both. "Oh, I see we've lost Miss Isabella."

"Miss Isobel went to pour us some punch," Andrea said.

"That's nice of her. I'm glad to see that everyone is getting along so well. Now, Andrea, I have a bit of time before I have to find Duke Lawrence so, would you care to dance? I know Florence boasts some of the best dancers of the country, but I'm sure I could interest you?"

"Should I?" Andrea asked, looking at Catherine.

Catherine smiled, pretending to not notice the pang in her chest. "He is a very good dancer. One of the best I've ever danced with."

"Thank you, Cat. Andrea, you can't argue with praise like that."

Andrea laughed, giving him her hand. "Very well, your Highness, if you insist."

Thomas began to lead her to the dance floor. "I do insist. It's my job to be insistent."

"As prince of the country you're insistent?" she asked teasingly.

"Horribly insistent. You should've heard what I was trying to talk your father into a few minutes ago."

Their voices disappeared as they reached the dance floor and the musicians began playing again. The smile on Catherine's face faded, and she suddenly felt the need to sit down. She took to an empty table and rested her elbows upon the tablecloth. Her eyes slid over to the floor, and she caught a glimpse of Thomas and Andrea twirling around to the music. They seemed to be laughing, enjoying the quick pace of the instruments and the intricate weaving in and out amongst the other dancers.

Catherine closed her hand over the tablecloth, bunching up a section of purple fabric. Anger, hot and fast, flared inside her. How could he do that? How could he honestly do that to her? Yes, Andrea was a guest and yes, as prince he had to be respectful and attentive to guests, but Thomas should know better. He should've realized that by bringing roses, by everything he had said and everything he had done, she would be expecting something. Anything. A look, a word, or at the very least a hint of what was happening!

She watched Thomas helping Andrea into an elegant twirl. He caught the girl carefully, his movements just as measured and relaxed as Catherine remembered. Her eyes sought his face, and its familiarity calmed her. Perhaps she was being silly. Just because Thomas happened to be spending time with Andrea did not mean he had forgotten Catherine. No, of course not. He'd never do a thing like that. He was just being a gentleman, like he always was. Soon the next dance would start and he'd lead Andrea back to the table and take Catherine by the hand and…

Her thoughts continued in this vein as the party continued. Five minutes later, the dance ended. But Thomas and Andrea remained on the floor and soon joined in another set. And then there was another dance, and then another. And Catherine remained sitting alone at her table.

The musicians were approaching the end of the sixth song when a young, well-dressed man came up to her.

"Hello," he said, smiling cheerfully.

Catherine looked up at him, giving a small smile back in return. He seemed to be a nice fellow—dressed in a neat green waistcoat and his hair in need of a comb. He obviously wasn't a military man, but the gold watch chain dangling from his pocket told of wealthy relations.

"How do you do?" Catherine said.

"Fine, thank you. I'm just—hmm—enjoying the party." He turned his face to the ceiling. "Sure decorate well here, eh?"

Catherine shrugged.

The man hummed a bit before clearing his throat. "So, ahem, were you uh—would you be interested in joining me for the next dance?"

"Oh I—" Catherine looked at the floor, once again spotting Andrea with the prince. She shook her head. "I'm sorry but, no thank you. I'm not dancing tonight."

"Ah." He sounded disappointed, but bowed. "All right then. Have a good night."

Awkward and confused, he made a quick exit and melted into the crowd.

Catherine would have felt sorry for him if she had not been dwelling on the truth of her response to his offer. She would not be dancing tonight. Thomas wasn't coming back, and even if he did, it wouldn't be for her. He was late for his meeting with Duke Lawrence anyway. She almost wondered if it would be inappropriate for her to march up to the dancing couple and remind him. If anything, the interruption would make her bruised heart feel better. How could he do this? After what had happened, what he had promised…

But, had he really promised her anything? Had Thomas actually said that they were moving on in the relationship—that he had feelings for her that rose above simple affection between friends? Or was it something she herself had concocted? Perhaps she had set herself up. Willfully misreading the signs and attaching far more meaning to a gentleman's courtesy—yes, that sounded like something she would do. Oh, of course she had done it! She had misconstrued everything and now she was blaming Thomas for something he probably didn't even realize he was doing.

Again, it was her fault.

Catherine felt her eyes stinging at the corners, and tried to distract herself by shredding one of the paper suns decorating the table.

Several minutes later, Isobel strolled up with three cups of punch in her hands. She set the cups on the table, casting a glance over her shoulder.

"I lost Roland again. I ran into him at the punch table, got punch all down his front, and chased him into a crowd of giggling girls. He disappeared and I was left apologizing to Patricia for accidentally whapping her across the nose. _That_ took a while." Isobel sat down at the table.

"Where did Andy go?"

"She and Tommy are dancing," Catherine replied, reaching for one of the cups.

Isobel quickly swapped that cup for another. "Don't drink that one—I spit in it."

Catherine's eyes widened. "You did not."

"'Course I did. That floozy from Florence deserves it."

"Isobel! Don't call her that!"

"That's what she is. The girl waltzes in here and steals your man and then has the audacity to pretend she isn't even doing it! Katie, the next time she comes around you should let me scratch her eyes out."

"Isobel, honestly." Catherine sighed, taking a sip of her punch.

"Just because she's some bouncy blonde doesn't mean the prince has to get all moony-eyed over her! I mean, she's not nearly half as pretty as you are. It's just because she's from Florence and her family's got money and—"

"If you're trying to make me feel better you're doing an awful job."

Isobel let out a huff. "Well I'm sorry. I suppose I'm just a bit catty tonight what with Geoff gone and his cousin on the run and of course Miss Andrea de la Florentia or whatever." Isobel took a long sip from her punch, glaring fire out at the dance floor. "How long has she been out there with his Royal Ignorance anyway?"

"Eight dances."

"Eight?"

"And a light jig," Catherine added quietly. For a moment, she closed her eyes. "You know, he must really like her."

"Oh Katie." Isobel reached over and set a reassuring hand on her arm. "Oh, no, he doesn't like—I'm sure he's just being an idiot. All men are idiots sometimes."

"It's not surprising, to be honest." She shook her head. "I've been thinking about it all night and I've realized—I mean—with my background and my family's background—Tommy wouldn't want somebody like that. Not in his life."

"No, stop it, Katie. Stop listening to old voices," Isobel said.

"They're hard to ignore."

"They're wrong. They've always been wrong. And while I don't know what his Highness is doing, I'm certain he doesn't actually _like_ Andy. After all, she's from Florence! Florence is notorious for producing right snobs."

"She's not a snob," Catherine said, fighting a smile.

"She's just good at hiding it, but deep down, she's a snob. A bouncy blond snob. Matter of fact, I bet that isn't even her real hair color." Isobel noisily drained the remainder of her punch.

Catherine snorted, and then quickly clapped a hand to her mouth. She was being incredibly rude, no matter what Andrea had done or not done. After all, the girl was Thomas's guest. She deserved better.

"Isobel, you shouldn't be talking about her like that."

"I can get away with it. I've always been one to speak my mind."

Catherine nodded. "Yes, I know, but she's Tommy's guest."

"Hmph." Isobel crossed her arms.

"Please?"

"I will try to keep my opinions to myself, but only because _you_ asked. I'm not doing it for them."

"Thank you."

Catherine drank some of her punch while Isobel glanced around at the room again.

After about a minute, Isobel asked, "So… do you think Geoff's actually here? I mean—if his cousin is here—Geoff may be here. And if Geoff's here—well, I don't want to brag, but there's probably a proposal coming."

"Do you really think so?" she asked, smiling at the prospect.

Isobel grinned. "I certainly hope there is. I'll have to ask Roland for sure, but the way he's been playing bob-and-weave with me it's been difficult."

"I'm sure you'll manage. Just—try not to hurt him."

"Katie, I wouldn't dream of it."

"Is this seat taken?" Andrea had finally come back from the dance floor, and although she was alone, she appeared happy. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright.

Isobel looked at Catherine and bit her lip to keep herself quiet. Catherine shook her head. "Of course you can sit down. Please, do sit down. You look tired."

"I _am_ tired. The prince is a brilliant dancer but ten straight dances can often wear a person out." Andrea took a seat at the table, seeing the drink glasses. "Is that punch for me?"

Catherine hastily scooted the punch away. "Um, no—no that was here already. I'll go get you some and Isobel can tell you all about Geoff."

Giving her friend a stern 'be nice' look, Catherine left the table to walk to the punch bowl. She took a few moments to fish out a large orange slice and set it neatly onto the lip of the cup, mulling over what Isobel had just told her. 'Don't listen to old voices, Katie.' Yes, well, that was very easy for her to say. Being full-blooded Coronan, Isobel never had people look down on her because of her family. She had never experienced such a stigma, nor had—Catherine thought as she walked back to the table—Andrea of Florence.

Catherine returned to find not only Isobel, but also Janette and Henrietta and two other girls clustered around Andrea. Everyone was laughing, a good sign, and even Isobel looked chipper as she began another story about her Aunt Valerie.

"So one day my Aunt Valerie was walking about town, looking for the newest café when this bloke ran up to her and asked her the time."

"Didn't the town have a clock tower?" One of the girls asked.

Isobel shook her head. "No, see this was in Chantill. The clock tower there has been broken for a decade. But anyway, back to the story—"

Henrietta frowned. "Why haven't they fixed the clock?"

Isobel stared at her, asking, "Does it matter?"

"I'm just curious."

"Well stay curious because I'm not telling you. Anyway, Aunt Valerie thought he was a right scoundrel who wanted to steal her purse, so she gave him a hard whallop with her umbrella. The man fell to the ground, clean knocked out, and Aunt Valerie was about to scream for the police when she recognized the fellow. He was the one of the—" Isobel's eyes widened as she spied something over Janette's shoulder. "_There_ he is!" she shouted, breaking away from the table and sprinting off.

Catherine watched as she ran, and saw Roland dashing away in the opposite direction. The poor man looked bedraggled and scared for his life. He dived out into the hallway, Isobel hot on his tail.

At the table, Andrea asked, "What just happened?"

"Isobel saw someone she needs to talk to," Catherine answered, giving Andrea the glass of punch. "She probably won't be back for a while."

Janette pouted, demanding, "But what about the story? Who was that man?"

"No idea," Catherine replied.

"Well, I'm not sitting around here any longer," Henrietta announced, rising to her feet. "Jimmy promised me at least fifteen dances tonight and we've barely gotten five in. Where did he go?"

"I think I saw him talking to Walter," Janette answered.

One of the girls smiled. "Oh, he's that tall one, right? He's _dreamy_."

"Too bad he's so rude," her friend said as she went to join Henrietta.

The other girl followed after her, retorting, "You just haven't seen his sensitive side."

Janette looked at Catherine and Andrea. "Are you girls doing anything now?"

"I think I'd like somewhere quieter to sit," Andrea said, setting her punch down. "The music is giving me a headache."

Janette smiled. "We can go to the powder room. The palace always has complimentary cakes and cushions and it's a lot more private."

Andrea looked at Catherine, who nodded. "Yes, let's do that."

* * *

The ladies' powder room was a comfortable place, featuring the necessary facilities as well as some unnecessary ones. Part of the room served as a little sitting area where one could sit and chat. A side table featured tea and dainty cakes, while a rather embarrassing portrait of a handsome mariner hung on the wall.

"I don't remember that being there last time," Catherine said, quickly glancing at her tea.

"I think they redecorated," Janette replied, smirking as she licked cake crumbs from her fingers. "So Andrea, what is it like in Florence? Is it really as fabulous as everyone says?"

"Well, I like it there," Andrea said, "but what do people say? The only people I've heard talk about Florence live there so they're not terribly unbiased."

"According to my cousin, Delia, they have the best seamstresses in the country. They know how to do all sorts of things with Roanian silks, and their velvets are _beautiful_. Does everybody dress as fashionably as you do?"

Andrea laughed. "I'm probably the last person they'd consider fashionable."

"But you've got such a nice gown!" Janette exclaimed, picking up another cake. "And your earrings! Silver, aren't they?"

Andrea reached up, twisting the little silver bows decorating her ears. "Um, I'm not sure."

"I wish some fellow would give me silver jewelry," Janette sighed. "Did your beau give you those?"

"Um…"

Catherine watched Andrea and saw that she was shifting uncomfortably. The girl was probably getting tired of Janette's questions. Perhaps she should…

Just then, a group of three girls entered the powder room. Two of girls were supporting a third, who was crying her eyes out and seemed unable to walk. They went over to a nearby sofa, other ladies coming over to see what was the matter. The crying girl wailed as one of her friends said, "She saw Barney necking that niece of the duke of Calscon. Poor thing just ran over to him and slapped him before breaking into tears."

"At least she slapped him," Janette remarked, hurrying over. "Daphne, don't cry. It's okay."

"Who is she?" Andrea whispered to Catherine as Daphne let out a few hiccups.

"I think she's one of Janette's younger sister's friends."

"Oh. How awful. She looks heartbroken."

Catherine took a sip of her tea, trying to not feel resentful.

Andrea shook her head, and once again twisted one of her earrings. "It's so selfish of men when they do that. Not just cheating on you but—making decisions without thinking at all about how you'd feel."

"Yes, I suppose it is," Catherine said, slowly setting down her tea.

"Almost as if they didn't even consider it. And all this time they were making promises and giving you chocolates and then it turns out it's for nothing." There was a bitterness in Andrea's voice that startled Catherine. The girl's normally cheerful demeanor had changed into something much more pessimistic.

She took a deep breath, asking, "Have—have you gone through something like that before?"

Andrea shook her head. "Not quite the same. He just—he said we were too young and that his family didn't like me and all sorts of rubbish. Broke my heart and didn't even seem to care." She closed her eyes, adding, "And I really loved him."

Catherine couldn't help herself. She began to feel sorry for Andrea.

"But it's been years now," Andrea smiled, looking at Catherine. "It's probably a little silly of me to still feel angry."

"I think you have every right to be angry," she replied earnestly.

"My father doesn't think so. In fact, that's partly why he brought me with him. He thought maybe I'd find someone else at the capital since none of the men in Florence 'match my standards' as he puts it."

Catherine's sympathy lessened, but she couldn't blame her. Among all the men in the capital, Thomas was most definitely the best choice if the girl could charm him. But there were so many _other_ men. Couldn't she choose one of them instead?

Fighting these conflicting thoughts, Catherine failed to notice Isobel until she had plopped herself down between her and Andrea. She looked defeated, and her hair had come undone from her bun.

"Lost him again. I honestly don't know how Roland keeps getting away from me. You'd think he'd tire out by now."

"I'd think _you'd_ tire out," Catherine said, happy for a distraction. "Isobel, you've lost the heel to one of your shoes."

"I know. Can someone get me some tea?"

Andrea stood up. "I'll get it."

Isobel leaned back, removing her shoes as she hissed out of the side of her mouth, "Still hanging around with the man-stealer, then?"

"Tommy asked me to be nice to her."

"Katie, 'nice' doesn't mean being her friend. It just means 'be civil'."

"Don't be cross with me just because you can't catch Roland."

"All right." Isobel looked up at the painting on the wall, her eyebrows rising. "That's eye-catching."

Andrea came back with the tea, handing it to Isobel.

"Thank you, Andy, you're so sweet."

She gave her the kindest smile. "You're welcome, _Izzy_."

Isobel's eyes narrowed, and Catherine had to cover up her laugh with a cough. Isobel detested being called 'Izzy', or any nickname for that matter. But the expression on Andrea's face clearly said she had won something, and now Isobel had to respect her for it.

"So, Andrea, lovely dress you're wearing," Isobel said carefully.

"Not nearly as nice as yours."

Isobel looked at her wrinkled dress, which now sported a tear in the hem due to her activities that evening. She slid her leg back, hiding the tear, and nodded. "See I like this one, but I was looking at ones from Florence and they were gorgeous but outrageously expensive!"

Andrea tilted her head. "Are you talking about the Arturo line? They're dreadful, don't buy them."

Isobel gasped. "I thought they were the height of fashion! You mean that merchant was lying to me?"

"They all lie to you. The trick is to make them believe you're not interested and then they'll flatter you and offer better prices and better gowns."

"Katie, do you hear this? I'm so glad I didn't spend Daddy's money on those sacks." Isobel leaned forward, asking sincerely, "Andrea, what do you think about the bonnets from Cadwell and Sons?"

Catherine sat back in her seat as the conversation continued, trying to reconcile her hurt with her relief that Isobel had finally consented to be nice to Andrea.

* * *

Out in the banquet hall, the prince of Corona finished talking with the Duke of Gavin. He nodded as the man resumed his place in the buffet line, and congratulated himself on a job well done. His father should be proud of him. He had managed to make everything run smoothly and had gotten enough pledges for upcoming legislation. Thomas grinned. He felt like dancing again.

Speaking of dancing, where had his partner gotten off to? He glanced around, but Catherine was nowhere to be seen. She was probably strolling around the dance floor, arm-in-arm with the daughter of the surveyor, making friends as usual. She was so marvelous to agree to do that for him. Of course, Thomas knew he could trust her with such a significant part of his business strategy. Make Andrea happy—make her father happy—make them want to live in the capital and bring their expertise under the influence of the crown. Naturally, Catherine was the _only_ person in the world who could succeed in winning Andrea over. She was simply amazing that way.

Congratulating himself again, this time on finding and falling in love with such a woman, Thomas made his way over to the windows. He leaned against the side of a window, giving a cursory survey of his surroundings. No. Neither Catherine nor Andrea seemed to be in the area. Thomas felt a little disappointed, but his disappointment quickly faded when he spotted his father talking to Lord Samuel, the surveyor of Florence. The two men seemed to be getting on very well, and a certain satisfaction rose in Thomas's chest. He strode over to join them, beaming at them both.

"Hello, Father. Lord Samuel. Enjoying the gala?"

The king looked at his son, evidently not pleased with the interruption, but Andrea's father smiled and nodded politely. "Yes, your Highness. It is a very nice party."

"Brilliant," Thomas said cheerfully.

"Ahem," the king turned back to the surveyor, "Anyway, Lord Samuel, it has been an immense pleasure to have you and your daughter and staff coming to visit us. I hope you have been pleased with all the arrangements both business and otherwise?"

"Well, I certainly can say you all have been tremendously polite here. Perhaps not like Florence manners but, not bad."

The king's jaw tightened, but Thomas seemed to have missed the insult and said, "Glad to have made an impression, sir."

Lord Samuel nodded, looking into his wineglass. "Yes. And Andrea does seem to like it here. She really enjoyed that tour you took her on downtown, your Highness."

"She's a wonderful girl, Lord Samuel. Pretty, intelligent, a good dancer, a bit chatty but overall it's been a privilege to get to know her and—" Thomas broke off, noticing the irritation in his father's expression. "She's—she's great," he finished lamely.

Lord Samuel frowned, raising his eyes to scan the room. "Speaking of Andrea, where is she anyway? I wanted to introduce her to Count David's son."

"To be honest, sir, I'm not entirely sure where—"

"Why don't you go find her, Thomas?" the king suggested, jerking his head just so slightly to the left. "Lord Samuel and I still have some business to discuss."

"Business?" Thomas asked.

His father glared, and Thomas nodded. "Yes. Yes—I'll do just that. Be back in a moment." He left the vicinity, feeling very much like a kicked dog.

Why on earth was his father upset with him? He had done everything according to plan. He had made Andrea happy. That had been his job, had it not? And why couldn't he talk to the surveyor given the strategic friendship he had forged with Andrea? He could probably introduce a new avenue of influence his father may have not considered.

Thomas continued his way across the hall, debating the possible arguments he could make with his father to include him in more of the codenamed 'Surveyor Plot'. He was so busy thinking this over, he failed to notice that he had left the hall and entered the corridor. In fact, this realization did not come to light until he saw Catherine exiting the ladies' powder room.

"Cat!" Thomas blurted, startling her. He hurried over, grinning at his luck. "Cat, I need to talk to you."

"Oh, do you?" Catherine asked, her voice cold.

"Yes I—" Thomas's forehead wrinkled. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head. "Never better. Now, what did you want?"

He studied Catherine, trying to see some hint of that frostiness he had just encountered. But no—it had disappeared and she was smiling now. He shrugged and started speaking again. "I just wanted to know if you knew where Andrea was. See, I need to know because her fa—"

"I'll go get her for you." She turned and disappeared back into the powder room without so much as a glance back at him.

Thomas straightened, certain he had just missed something important. First his father and now Catherine? Was everyone cross with him tonight?

But then Andrea had come out from the powder room, and she was smiling, dimples included. At least someone was happy.

"Hello," Thomas greeted, offering her his arm. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I just ran into your father and he wanted to see you. I hope that's all right?"

"It's perfectly fine, your Highness," Andrea replied, following him back into the banquet hall.

"Have you been enjoying the party?" Thomas asked.

"Yes, very much. The music and food is all very good. And I've met such lovely people."

"Ah, Cat introduced you to all her friends, did she? Mind you," he looked behind his shoulder, "she seemed a bit snappy back there."

"I think she might have been frustrated with Miss Isobel because she went out to hunt down Prince Geoffrey's cousin."

"Hmm," Thomas said, not having heard what the girl had just told him.

Andrea watched him, easily reading that his thoughts were still on Catherine. She cleared her throat. "You were quite right. Miss Catherine is a very good, very kind person."

"Yes, she is." A grin appeared on his face, and Thomas added, "Cat has always been very kind. She's one of the most beautiful, gracious individuals I've ever known. Gentle but able to stand up for herself, funny but not improper, and clever but not proud. She—she's brilliant in all areas to be completely honest."

"Is she?" Andrea asked, smiling.

Thomas laughed. "She is! It's simply amazing how she just—Cat's never been anything but fantastic. Any possible quality you could come up with, she has it. There's no envy or strife in her there's just—just _goodness_ and it's unbelievable."

"How long have you known her?"

"Only a few months or so."

Andrea nodded. "Yes, I think I remember her telling me that. And how long have you been in love with her?"

Thomas's ears turned bright red, and he stumbled. "Pardon?"

"You heard me, your Highness."

"Yes um—how about we—we just sort of go and find your father?" he mumbled, picking up the pace and trying to ignore the girl's knowing gaze.

Eventually, however, Thomas could not ignore her any longer and asked sheepishly, "Am I really that obvious?"

"A bit."

"Of course I am." He closed his eyes, not really wanting to ask his next question. "Does Cat know?"

Andrea shrugged, answering, "I don't believe she does. But, if you would like some advice from a friend, Prince Thomas: tell her."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"Yes you can. You just need the confidence and the right moment."

"There never seems to be a 'right moment'."

"Then make one. And," she smiled, adding gently, "you probably shouldn't dance with another woman without asking her first."

"What do you mean?"

Andrea raised her eyebrows. "You're a very sweet man, your Highness, but you're terribly dense. You've only danced with me tonight. You didn't even ask Catherine, and I don't think you've paid her any attention at all. She's probably quite hurt."

Thomas mouthed soundlessly for a moment, recognizing how stupid he had been all night. He stammered, "But I—I had work and—and you—balderdash, I've been an idiot."

"Just go apologize and everything will be fine, I'm sure."

"Yes but—what about you? Your father won't like me deserting you. I'll just—ah yes." Thomas called out to a familiar face in the crowd. "Michael! Michael, get over here!"

Michael of Florence walked over, looking confused. "Your Highness?"

"Listen, I need you to look after Andrea. Andrea, this is Michael—he's from Florence like you—he's the duke's son. He can probably help you find your father."

Andrea narrowed her eyes. "Your Highness, I don't think that's—"

"Good, now you know each other. I've got to run." Thomas departed.

Michael turned back to Andrea, his expression uncertain. "What just happened?"

"He's going to go tell a girl he loves her."

"Oh." Michael stared at his boots.

"You know," Andrea began, tilting her head, "when he said 'Michael', I never would have guessed that it would be _my_ Michael."

"Yes. How serendipitous." He smiled uncomfortably at her.

"Very."

Michael sighed, looking Andrea up and down. "What's it been? Five years? You've grown up."

"And you grew back your mustache."

"You weren't around to tell me to shave it off."

"Shame. You look better without it," Andrea replied.

Michael held out his arm. "Would you care to dance?"

"You're supposed to be taking me back to my father," she said.

"Your father hates me."

"I know."

They had a staring contest that ended once Andrea set her hand on his wrist.

"This isn't a promise," she said, following him out onto the dance floor.

He shook his head. "No, but it is an opportunity."

* * *

Meanwhile, Thomas was quickly striding back to the entrance of the banquet hall, pleading with Heaven that Catherine would still be there. Or rather, he alternated between pleading with Heaven and mentally kicking himself, but mostly he was pleading.

He just had to get there. He had to find her and apologize and tell her. That's what he had to do. He had to throw himself at her mercy, confess his idiocy like the fool he was, and beg her forgiveness. _How_ could he have been so thick? It was all that business with the surveyor and Andrea and getting so wrapped up in his work, he had forgotten the one person that mattered most in the world. How could he have done such a horrible thing! Why, Catherine must be furious with him! There he was, giving her flowers, and then the next second he spent half the night dancing with some girl! He had completely ignored her. What had he been thinking? Could he fix it? Why were there so many people at this blasted gala!

Bursting out of the crowd, Thomas raced to the hallway. No, no, _no_! Where was she? Had she gone home?

He turned around, grasping at his beard in agitation. Wait—there she was!

Catherine was standing beside a potted plant, Isobel's shoes dangling from one hand. She appeared supremely annoyed, and that annoyance only increased when Thomas approached.

"Hello again," he said, slightly breathless from his recent sprint.

"Hi."

"Are you—shoes?" Thomas suddenly noticed the footwear in her hand.

Catherine grimaced slightly. "Isobel's. She thinks she'll have a better chance of catching Geoffrey's cousin if she's barefoot."

"Well I wish her luck."

"Wish Roland luck. He's probably regretting his decision to come here."

He nodded. "Probably. Anyway, um—I have something I need to tell you."

"No, I don't know where Andrea is."

Thomas mentally kicked himself again. "It's not that. And before I say anything else, Cat, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"Katie!" Isobel ran up abruptly, grabbing hold of Catherine's arm to keep from sliding on the shiny floor. "Katie, we've got to leave now! I just got the news out of Roland! Geoff's at my house right now asking Daddy if he can marry me!"

"What? Marry?" Catherine asked, attempting to get her balance back as Isobel's feet slipped on the wood.

"Yes! He snuck down from Orae and he wants to propose!"

"Isobel, I—Tommy and I are talking and—"

"But this is _important_! How many times does a girl get proposed to in her life?" Isobel asked, glancing at the prince.

"I—I don't know," Thomas said, amazed at how much the universe hated him.

"Please, Katie, please!" Isobel begged. "We've got to go and I'm your ride back so you have to come!"

"But—" Catherine looked at Thomas, her eyes questioning.

He shook his head. "No you—you should go."

"But you were saying something."

"It can wait. After all," he shrugged, "how many times does a girl get proposed to?"

"Exactly. Katie, come on!" Without further ado, Isobel started dragging her friend away from the hall.

Catherine looked back only once, and Thomas gave her a sad smile. A few seconds later, she had disappeared, and Thomas went to find the nearest piece of wall to smack his head against.

He had ruined everything. There was no possible way he could fix this now. No way. Why, he didn't even know the next time he would be able to see her! What on earth was he going to do now?

Thomas punctuated each thought by hitting his forehead against the marble wall. It was in this state that his cousin found him.

"Hey, Goliath, Lord Thingy's looking for his daughter, and you—wot's going on?"

"Oh, you know, just being an idiot."

"Mate, you're going to leave a mark and you know how Auntie Caroline's like about her stonework."

Thomas hit his head again, and remembered something. He turned around, glaring at his cousin. Frederick backed away a few steps.

"You," Thomas growled.

"Wotever you think I did—it wasn't me."

"You were supposed to be there tonight! You were supposed to make sure I wasn't a complete moron! Where have you been?"

"Wot?"

Thomas took his cousin by the shoulders, shaking him. "I needed you, Freddy! If you were there, you would've told me I was ignoring Cat, and everything would be all right."

"You did wot—" Frederick's face grew angry. "I _told_ you not to ignore her!"

"Yes, but I forgot!" Thomas released his cousin, slumping against the wall. "And she's off with her friend, cursing my name and probably almost home by now."

"Cursing your—wait, did you say she's gone home?"

"Does it matter?"

Frederick took his cousin by his uniform front. "Tom, did you say Kitty-cat's gone home?"

Thomas was surprised at his cousin's insistence. "Yes, but—"

"Of all the—blooming, confounded—garter stockings!" Frederick bolted off.

"No, wait—get back here!"

But Frederick had already gotten halfway across the floor. He squirmed his way past soldiers and sailors, past the punch table and the ladies with powdered wigs. He ducked beneath a waiter's tray, dodged an inebriated lord telling a joke, and sidestepped a kissing couple. He had almost made it through without hitting anyone when a limping Roland got in his way.

Frederick knocked him over, calling over his shoulder, "Sorry, mate!"

Then he located their table, and found that Frieta was still talking to her school friends from Livesley.

Frederick touched her shoulder. "Darling, listen to me—"

"Can't you see I'm talking?" Frieta snapped at him.

"I'm sorry, love, but you've go to go. Your sister's on her way back home!"

Frieta spilled her drink. "What?"

"She just left. You've got to make it back before anyone notices you're gone."

"Dancing turnips, you're right! Where's my purse?"

He found it beneath the table and gave it to her. Frieta, despite looking frantic, smiled. "Thanks for the wonderful night. I've missed seeing you."

Frederick smiled and kissed her. "Me too. Now, go—quick."

Frieta kissed him back. "Goodnight, Freddy."

"Goodnight, my dearest love."

She soon vanished into the party.

* * *

_I told you there'd be kissing :) *dodges laptops/phones*_


	23. Joseph's Party

**Author Note**: Hello, and yes I am alive, despite what college and life have been trying to accomplish lately :D Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter, and keep looking forward to the next one! I hear it will be extremely intriguing (hahaha). Also, I will try to get as much done as I can before I start up at my new job for the summer :D it involves writing, so no worries there, and is unpaid, so lots of worries there haha but that's okay :D I need it in order to graduate (yes, I'm one of those super-seniors) but hopefully I'll be done with school soon by August or December, depending on things. Not that you guys need to know that anyway... oh, and because people keep asking, yes, I am a girl :D By the way, if you guys need some fun summer reading, check out the YA novels _The Lunar Chronicles_, my sister let me binge-read them earlier this month because I needed something non-school related to read. Hope you enjoy them!

P.S. This chapter may feel a little off, because there's more drama and less happiness... but hopefully the ending will kind-of make up for that :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Catherine woke up late the next morning, sat on the edge of her bed, and stared despondently at the dress she had draped over her chair last night. It had mud stains all over the bottom, and a little further up, two terrific dirty spots when she had fallen to the ground on her knees. Isobel had insisted that they sneak around to the side garden to see Geoffrey talking to her father through the study window. Unfortunately, Isobel had not counted on the rain that had fallen earlier that evening, and did not notice the mud puddle until she had dragged Catherine right through it. And then of course, Geoffrey happened to glance out the window, causing Isobel to drop to the ground, yanking Catherine down with her.

Catherine examined the extent of the damage, remembering Geoffrey's booming laugh when he saw a muddy Isobel dripping on the doorstep. The man then promptly swept the girl into his arms and proposed right on the spot.

"At least _somebody_ had a good night," Catherine said, setting aside the dress and turning to prepare for the day.

A few minutes later she went downstairs, brushing her hair and pausing before the hall mirror to see her reflection. She could hear Frieta and Mary chatting with Emma in the sitting room. Frieta's voice seemed unusually cranky. Catherine, knowing she did not have the patience to deal with a snappy sister today, put her brush down and walked past the sitting room to the kitchen.

Her mother was with the twins and Georgiana at the table, supervising their reading lessons while, at the same time, keeping an eye on the apple pie rising in the oven.

"How much longer do we have to read?" Allison asked.

Lady Marie considered her husband's pocket watch. "At least another thirty minutes. And then you can work on your sums."

Eleanor's jaw dropped. "Sums? But Mama—"

"No 'but Mama' me. You girls have to be ready by the time you're of age for school."

"I don't like sums… They're so hard and boring," Georgiana muttered, flipping idly through the pages of her storybook.

"Too bad. Sums are part of the way the world works and you need to know how the world works when you've grown up."

"Katie, do you know how the world works?" Georgiana asked as Catherine approached the table.

Her older sister shrugged. "Some days I do."

Georgiana and the twins frowned at their mother. Lady Marie sighed. "All right, you three. Go ahead and play outside for a bit. Ask General Josiah if he would like a piece of pie."

Eleanor beamed, getting off her chair. "Oh he will. Mr. Joe likes pie almost as much as Daddy does."

"I'm not sure if anyone could like pie as much as your father," Lady Marie replied. "Now run along."

The three little girls ran outside, giggling in the generous sunshine. The door remained open and light spilled over the kitchen tiles. The sounds of laughter and crashing waves drifted inside.

Lady Marie peeked into the oven as her second eldest took a seat at the table. "I was wondering when you would get up, Katie. You missed breakfast."

"It was—it was a bit of a rough night," Catherine said, turning the pages of Georgiana's storybook.

"What happened?"

"Isobel got engaged—she just had to drag me through the mud outside her house to do it. Prince Geoffrey came down from Orae and asked her father. Isobel was ecstatic."

"And you aren't?"

"No, I'm happy for her. I just wish my dress wasn't covered in dirt."

Her mother's eyes narrowed, and she took a seat across from Catherine. "That's not the only thing bothering you. What happened at the party?"

"Things happened. Dancing and—people." She looked towards the side, adding under her breath: "Pretty girls from Florence."

"What was that last bit?"

"Nothing. Just—I didn't get to dance with Tommy at all because he was busy and—and I suppose I'm a little put out about it."

"Well, maybe you could dance with him at the next party," Lady Marie said.

"Maybe." Catherine returned to the storybook.

Lady Marie studied her daughter, knowing full well that deeper things were going on than just missed dances and muddy gowns. But, Catherine was old enough to decide when and what she wanted to tell her mother, and Lady Marie was not going to force the issue. However, what mattered now was that whatever _had_ happened last night could impact what she had to do next. This was going to be difficult.

"We received some mail this morning."

"Did you?" Catherine asked, half-hoping there was a letter from the palace.

"Yes, we did. And," her mother removed an envelope from the stack on the counter, handing it to her, "there was one for you."

Catherine read the return address. Her face fell.

Lady Marie continued to watch her, waiting.

Catherine took a deep breath and opened the envelope, withdrawing what appeared to be a party invitation. She read the paper, her lips tightening with each line.

"Joseph is going to be married."

"Is that what it says?" her mother asked quietly.

"Yes. It's an invitation to his engagement party. The girl—his fiancée—I recognize her name. She went to school with Lizzie and me. She was always very nice."

A moment passed by. The sounds of the girls playing in the backyard seemed to get louder. Lady Marie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

"Your father wanted to burn it."

"He would. Why didn't you let him?"

"I felt that you had a right to know why that man was writing to you. Though I must say it's rather surprising that he'd send an invitation."

She shook her head, reading the invitation again. "It was probably an accident—or maybe his fiancée remembers me from school. Or—oh, I don't know."

Lady Marie rose to her feet and looked in on the pie again. After adding another piece of wood to the fire, she turned around. "You don't have to go, Katie."

"No I—it—it's polite of them to ask."

"Or impolite, considering what happened."

Catherine looked at her. "What should I do?"

"It is your decision, dear—your choice." Lady Marie walked over and kissed her on the head. "Do make the right one, though. I don't want to see you hurt again."

"It's been nearly three years," Catherine said, not really knowing why she said it.

"I know. But that doesn't mean the wounds have fully healed yet."

Her mother checked on the girls outside, saw that they were playing a game of leapfrog, and again looked at Lord Brian's pocket watch. She raised her eyes and saw Catherine still sitting at the table, rereading the invitation.

"If you're going to stay in here, Katie, please keep an eye on the pie. It should be done in a few minutes and I need to go make sure your father isn't misbehaving."

"Yes ma'am."

Lady Marie left the room, and Catherine ran a finger over the beautifully scripted names of the engaged couple. She had thought about him last night. About the son of that wealthy tobacco lord—about the young man with whom she had spent a summer strolling through the streets of the city and the empty halls of his house. His father and mother had been away, checking on the plantations further south, and only he and his little brother remained behind with the house staff. It had been an accident, meeting him. He had attended the wrong party and somehow or another she wound up talking with him half the night. They shared similar interests in books, similar dislikes of fancy parties, which they, having reached late adolescence, were now expected to attend. Parties turned into outings, outings into evening walks. It was all very sudden and very much unplanned. But she had just turned seventeen and nothing was making sense then. Except for him. Joseph of Montclair Avenue. Lean, handsome, and intelligent Joseph with the dark hair and kind eyes.

These memories stung more than she thought they would, and, in an effort to escape them, Catherine went over to pull the pie out of the oven. Its warm, cinnamon-laced scent calmed her somewhat, and she slid it onto the cooling rack to watch the steam waft upward.

To be honest, Catherine thought, the invitation could not have come at a worse time. After the fiasco at the military gala, with Thomas ignoring her for nearly the entire night and the rising feeling of inadequacy in her heart, now she had been broadsided by this painful reminder of the past. First Thomas and now Joseph? What was going to happen next? Would the cowhand she had admired as a twelve year-old girl come suddenly prancing up the street? And what about General Josiah's youngest nephew or Thaddeus Marigold? Were all men just put on earth to torment her?

She shut her eyes, and inexplicably recalled the apology Thomas had given that time he had read her letter from Jerome. He had been so sincere, so completely and utterly sincere, with genuine concern that he had broken her trust and now wanted to repair it. He had confessed that he had been wrong in even such a minor thing, and expressed true humility in his admission. No other man had done that. No other man had cared enough.

But he had danced with that girl from Florence.

Well of course he had danced with her! She was his guest and he was the prince of the country. It had been his responsibility to ensure that Andrea enjoyed the party. It was—it was not entirely his fault. And hadn't he been trying to mend things right before Isobel swept in with news of Geoffrey's proposal?

Her gaze fell upon the invitation again, and she knew that she would not want to go to the party alone. She had to have someone to go with her. Isobel would be too busy with Geoffrey, Henrietta with James, and all her other friends knew too much. But Thomas—perhaps she could ask if he and his cousin would be willing to take her. It was always worth a try. And if he said no or that he was too busy, well, then she would have a very good excuse not to go.

Lady Marie returned to the kitchen to find Catherine writing a letter at the table.

"Declining the invitation?" she asked, opening a drawer to pull out the serving spatula.

"Actually, I was going to see if Tommy could take me."

There was a clash of metal against stone. Her mother had dropped the utensil. "You're going?"

"Yes, Mother, I am. That is, if Tommy isn't too busy to take me. I'll need a ride since it's on the other side of the city."

"Your father's not going to like that," Lady Marie said, rinsing off the spatula.

She shrugged, replying, "Daddy doesn't have to like it. And didn't you say it was my choice?"

"Katie, you don't have to prove anything to anyone."

Catherine folded up the letter, her movements defensive. "I'm not trying to prove something. I—I just think that there's no reason I can't go. And, I'm happy for Joseph. He's a good man and he deserves someone special."

"That's a matter of opinion."

"Mother, will you please stop making those remarks? Look, I know you don't like Joseph—I know that Daddy doesn't like Joseph—but I—he was a friend once and I—I can go to his party if I want to."

Lady Marie accidentally cut a slice too big. Catherine hardly ever spoke back to her parents. The fact that she was doing so now did not assure her mother in the least. But perhaps a little bit of time and coaxing would change her decision.

"Very well," Lady Marie said, carefully placing the slice of pie onto a plate. "Dear, you haven't eaten anything today, would you like some pie?"

"No thank you. I've got to go mail this letter off." Without a backward glance, Catherine left the kitchen.

"That is not a good sign," Lady Marie muttered to the abandoned pie.

* * *

There was a small, private gym set up within the palace dungeons. Occasionally the palace guards would train there, but its primary use was for that of the royal family. It contained hand weights and punching bags, bars on which to do chin-ups, and a wall of blunted or wooden weapons to use in practicing various moves and stances. There was also a full-sized sparring arena, cut about a foot into the floor so it could be filled with sand, and fenced off with rope and padded, wooden posts. Currently, a servant boy was raking the sand smooth again as it had recently been disturbed in a bout between the prince and one of the guards.

Thomas sat, bare-chested, on a bench a little ways from the arena. He adjusted the icepack on his shoulder, wincing as his fingers pressed against the large bruise forming there. First Private Saul had a good arm, and Thomas knew the moment those thick knuckles collided with his right shoulder that the court physician would fuss at him for a week. Technically, he was only supposed to have 'supervised' training sessions. But Thomas needed to blow off some steam and pound out the frustration that had been building within him since the previous night. Wrestling and punching one of the palace guards seemed like a good way to do it.

With his free hand, he brushed some sand out of his hair and beard. He had been such an idiot at that party. Forsaking Catherine all for what? A business strategy? Since when did his duties as prince come before the woman he loved? Not to mention, his father had failed to get the price he wanted on the survey of the crown's newest holdings in the upcountry. Nor did it seem, by the end of the night, that Lord Samuel was interested in moving his company anywhere remotely close to the capital. The whole night—nay, the whole week dedicated to making Andrea and her father happy—had been a waste of effort and time. And that waste may have cost him someone very dear.

Intentionally, Thomas applied more pressure to the bruise on his shoulder until the pain grew so bad he could not stand it any longer. He released his shoulder and leaned down, setting his head into his hands to grasp at his hair. How was he going to fix this? Flowers? Apologizing? A long-winded letter confessing his stupidity and love? Each option seemed more unlikely than the last. She was probably so angry with him that nothing short of a miracle would repair the damage he had done.

"Your Highness?"

Thomas looked up to see the servant boy peering at him with concern. He straightened, clearing his throat. "Yes, Gordon, what is it?"

"Um, I've finished up here. Is there anything else you need?"

"Yes, he needs someone to give him a good wallop about the ears!"

They both glanced over to see Frederick entering the chamber. The man looked more than a little cross as he marched his way towards them.

"Sir?" Gordon asked, looking between his two superiors.

"Don't mind him, Gordon. You may go."

"Yes, your Highness." He dropped a bow and quickly left the room.

Thomas turned to his cousin. "May I help you before you scare any more of my servants?"

Frederick folded his arms. "Sure can. Wot on earth do you think you're doing, landing guards in the infirmary and spending hours down here! Get up, get yourself spiffy and go down and apologize to Kitty-cat!"

"It won't work, Freddy. Cat doesn't want to see me right now."

"How do you know that, hmm? Come on, Goliath, get off your backside and get a move on."

The pool of anger that had been boiling in Thomas's stomach surged at the chance to be directed at someone. He jabbed a finger at his cousin, barking, "Look, I don't know if you can understand me because you've always been a bit dense, but this is not something I can fix in an instant! I don't know the first place to start and I'm certainly not going down there and risk ruining what little chance I have. I need to plan this out, Freddy. I can't just hop up and do it."

"You've had nearly an entire day. Wot more do you need?"

Thomas shook his head and got to his feet, heading over to the wall of practice weapons. "I need some time, Freddy. I need to think it out and I—I need—"

"Wot you need to do is take a bath, get dressed, and go down with a bouquet and grovel!"

He selected a quarterstaff from the wall. "That won't work. I've already thought it through."

Frederick watched his cousin weighing the staff in his hands, and experienced the sudden urge to grab it and give him a whack. Instead, he settled with more insults. "D'you know, I don't think Saul hit you near hard enough? Obviously he missed your fat old head."

"Just go away."

"No, I'm not going away. You've done nothing but mope ever since the gala and it's high time you get up and do something about it."

"No, Freddy!" Thomas turned around, plunking the end of the quarterstaff onto the ground. "No! I don't feel like discussing the matter any more. I'm injured and mad and I don't mind sending another man to the infirmary to prove it."

Frederick backed off slightly, eyeing his cousin's broad, hairy chest. Sometimes he forgot how big he was. "Take it easy, mate."

"Don't you think that I'm furious about what happened? Don't you think I know what a disaster it was? There's nothing I want to do more than fix it, but I can't Freddy. I have no idea how."

Frederick watched as the man made a few halfhearted gestures with the quarterstaff. Perhaps indignation and fury were the wrong tactics. After all, the fellow did look as if he had been beating himself up about the whole thing for a while now. He did not need more shouting. He needed help.

Frederick swallowed, suggesting quietly, "You could ask your mum."

"No. I can't let Mother know I've messed up this badly." Thomas swung the staff and landed a glancing blow to the practice dummy.

"She could help," Frederick said, watching the blows get faster and more accurate.

"No." Thunk.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Thunk. "I am very," thunk, "very," thunk, "sure." Thunk-unk. The dummy toppled over. Thomas dropped his staff and went to set the dummy back into place, murmuring, "I'll just—I'll have to figure it out myself."

His cousin sat down on the bench as Thomas renewed his attack.

"Hitting that thing's not going to solve anything."

"It makes me feel better," Thomas grunted, feinting before coming up with a swipe that would shatter a real man's chin.

"Look Tom, Kitty-cat's a reasonable gal. She'd understand that you made a mistake."

"How do you know?" He made another strike, actually snapping off one of the wooden limbs.

"Because I—well—because I know her. And you. And I know that no matter wot happened last night, the way you feel about her hasn't changed."

The dummy fell down again, and Thomas turned, leaning on his staff as he panted, "What—what does that mean?"

"It means you've still got a chance. Maybe you're right and you should wait. For all you know, someone's going to walk through that door carrying a great, fat letter from Kitty-cat. And it will have brilliant news about how chuffed to bits she is that you—oh you've got to be joking!"

Thomas turned and saw Ferdinand coming into the gym. He had a bundle of mail under his arm and a bucket of ice dangling from his other hand. Evidentially one of the guards had told the manservant about the prince's injury.

"Some mail for you, your Highness. And more ice," Ferdinand announced, carefully stepping over the fallen dummy.

"Give the mail to Freddy and let him shift through it. I'm not in the mood." Ferdinand did as asked while Thomas replaced the quarterstaff and sat down on another bench.

Frederick quickly glanced through the mail as the manservant began to apply ice to the prince's shoulder.

"Bills from the council, a letter from a nobleman about his fields, invitation to a party, another invitation, another—gravy on potatoes, you get more invites than I do—and there's some message from the guardhouse you need to look at. Oh, and your da wants you to attend wot he calls a 'very important meeting' in about two weeks."

Thomas lifted his head. "Anything else? Ouch! Ferdinand, not so hard."

"Sorry sir."

"Wot else, wot else—I think your mum wants you to get a haircut and—would you look at that—a letter from Kitty-cat!"

Thomas sat up, nearly knocking his manservant over. "What?"

"Yes, that's her name all right. Gal wot stole your heart, written right on the envelope."

"Well what does it say?" Thomas demanded, slapping Ferdinand away.

"Give me a minute and I'll tell you." Frederick opened the envelope and ran his eyes over the paper. He frowned, rummaged through the mail on his lap, and pulled out another envelope.

"Freddy."

"Hold on. Here—read wot she said."

Thomas took the letter and read it quickly as his cousin opened the other envelope. "She—she doesn't mention the gala at all. And she wants us to take her to another party?"

Frederick nodded, waving the invitation at him. "Looks like it. Apparently she knows the gal getting married."

His cousin frowned. "Well, what should I do?"

"Write back, I suppose. Maybe Kitty-cat's giving you a chance to redeem yourself."

"Maybe." Thomas looked again at the letter, studying the familiar handwriting.

* * *

"Mate, you've got to stop tugging at your collar."

"It's stuffy in here."

"Then open a window."

It had been two days since Thomas had received the letter from Catherine. Now, on the evening of the second day, he and Frederick were riding one of the palace carriages down to pick up Catherine from Lord Brian's house. The sun was slipping lower in the sky, and the mixing colors of deep purple and violet indicated a quiet sunset. The air, blowing in from the window Thomas had opened, had the hint of smoky autumn beneath its summer scents. Corona summers were always longer than the following fall and winter months. But the change of seasons was still coming and coming quickly. It was closer to Christmas now than it was to Easter.

Frederick leaned forward in his seat, breaking off Thomas's thoughts about the weather. "Okay, let's go over the plan again. We're going to pick up Kitty-cat, take her to the party, and after some dancing and little sandwiches, you'll try to get her alone somewhere. Then, you'll explain to her why you were such a complete buffoon at the gala, apologize, and tell her how you feel."

At this last phrase, Thomas winced.

"You're going to have to do it sometime, Tom."

He nodded. "I know. I know I'll have to. It's just—does she really have to know?"

His cousin shrugged, replying, "Well, I guess you could just try kissing her if you want."

"I don't think that would go over very well."

"How do you know? Are you bad at kissing?"

Thomas decided not to answer that question, although his ears did turn red.

* * *

In her room, Catherine finished combing her long hair to a shimmering finish. Its appealing brown shade was lost on its owner, however.

"Oh, I look dreadful," Catherine said, frowning at her reflection.

In some ways, she was right. Her skin was fairer than normal, and there were circles under her eyes, now hidden beneath face paint. She hadn't been getting much sleep the last few nights, nor had she eaten much. Immense amounts of anxiety tended to have that affect on her. Bake a lot, eat and rest very little.

She stood up and immediately felt dizzy. Maybe some water would help.

Catherine went across the hall to the bathroom, drawing herself a cup from the faucet. She could hear her younger sisters playing house in their room, and she suddenly wanted to stay at home with them. Have dinner with her family; curl up afterwards next the fire with a good book while her father snored behind his newspaper. But she couldn't. Right now, this night, she had to face this.

Her mother appeared in the mirror, knocking on the doorframe. "Katie dear, your father wants a word with you before you go."

"I'm not changing my mind."

"I know. But he still wants to talk to you."

"Yes ma'am." She put the cup down and turned to join her mother in the hallway.

Lady Marie set her hand beneath her daughter's chin, her thumb stroking Catherine's cheek. "Dear, are you sure you feel well enough? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine, Mother."

Lady Marie frowned, and Catherine sighed, remedying, "Thank you for asking, but I feel—I'm all right."

"Just 'all right'?" Her mother smiled sympathetically.

She half-shrugged. "At the moment, I think that's all I can feel."

"Katie, you don't have to—"

"I'm going, Mother."

Lady Marie sighed and dropped her hand. "Then let's go down to your father. He's in his office."

Lord Brian was sitting behind his desk when his wife and daughter entered. He looked nearly as unhappy as Catherine felt, and while he attempted a smile, she could see the stress behind it. He rose to his feet and came around to take her hands.

"You look beautiful, Katie."

"Thank you, Daddy."

He squeezed her fingers. "I—I hope you have a good time tonight."

"Yes sir."

"Do try to have a good time. Don't let that—," he struggled with a few words before settling with, "—him ruin it for you."

She smiled bravely, and promised, "I won't let him."

"Good girl." His eyes twinkled behind his glasses.

There was a loud knock at the front door.

Lord Brian glanced towards the hall, noting, "It sounds like your ride is here. Go ahead or you'll be late for the party."

Catherine nodded and, with a reassuring smile, left the room. Lord Brian took his seat again, his wife coming up behind him. She began to massage her husband's shoulders, working out the tension that had been building since the invitation's arrival. He closed his eyes, sighing comfortably as she eased the kinks in his neck.

"Not bad for a girl born in the Midlands, hmm?" Lady Marie asked.

Lord Brian turned his head to look at her, smiling. "Not bad at all."

She kissed him and then slid her arms around his neck, hugging him close. "She'll be all right, Brian. She has Thomas with her. He'll take care of Katie."

"I know." He reached up and clasped his hand over hers.

* * *

Thomas brightened as the front door opened. "Ah, Cat, it's wonderful to see—"

"Come on or we'll be late," Catherine said, dashing past him and down the porch steps.

She tried to ignore his quick, startled pace behind her as she swung open the gate and pulled herself into the carriage. Frederick was peeping through the window at the house when she entered, and had to cover a grin as Catherine sat down beside him.

Soon after, Thomas clambered into the carriage and shut the door.

His cousin laughed. "From the way she ran past you, Goliath, it almost looked like she was going to nick the carriage and leave you on the doorstep."

Thomas shot Frederick a glare, murmuring, "Yes, very funny."

"It was funny. You should've seen your face." There was a slight kick as the driver commanded the horses to start a brisk trot.

Ignoring his cousin's grin, Thomas turned to Catherine, and immediately noticed something was wrong. She looked—unwell. There was a strain in her face he could never remember seeing before, and its presence made him dread what the cause could be. Had his ignorance at the gala affected her that much?

"How are you?" he asked, his words soft, concerned.

She tried, and did not quite succeed, a nonchalant shrug. "I'm fine."

Thomas opened his mouth to reply, but Frederick interjected, "Probably just worried we won't reach the party on time." He leaned over conspiratorially, saying in a stage whisper, "Sorry for our late arrival, but Goliath had trouble finding a matching cravat. You should've seen him, Kitty-cat, he nearly left his room wearing stripes and spots together."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," Catherine said, giving Thomas a small smile.

His expression uncertain, he nonetheless returned a warm smile of his own. This seemed to have a calming affect on Catherine, for the stiffness in her posture lessened and she no longer appeared so anxious. The wrinkle on Thomas's forehead relaxed, and he leaned back against the cream-colored upholstery. Perhaps it was simply their lateness that was causing her worry. Perhaps it had nothing to do with him at all.

Bolstered by this suggestion, Thomas cleared his throat and said, "Don't let Freddy fool you, Cat. He was the one who was holding us up. Said he had to finish combing his eyebrows so he could look both handsome _and_ clever."

"You comb your eyebrows?" Catherine asked, truly surprised.

Frederick nodded. "It's a secret method I use to make myself irresistible to the ladies, Kitty-cat."

"And does it work?"

"'Course it does. You just can't tell because I've been cutting back lately to give the gals of the capital a little breathing room. Hard to woo a bunch of gals if they're busy fanning themselves because they're all hot and bothered."

"Yes, I believe I saw you having that problem at the gala," Catherine said, smirking.

Frederick's eyes widened, and he stammered, "You—you did?"

"I'm just teasing. I didn't even know if you were at the gala or not."

"I was—just—busy chatting up the gals and the dukes. I say, would you look at that sunset?" Frederick turned to the window and suddenly became interested in the passing landscape.

Catherine's green eyes flickered over to Thomas, and things grew a lot more uncomfortable.

He coughed. "So, erm, how is your family?"

"Very well. How are your parents?"

"Oh, they're good. Mother's been badgering me lately about getting a haircut but," he shrugged, "other than that, everything is fine."

"It is getting a little long," Catherine murmured, tilting her chin as she studied him.

Thomas patted his hair down, and managed to rumple it in the process.

Smiling, Catherine looked out the window. "Did you hear about Geoffrey and Isobel?"

"Yes. Geoff wrote to tell me the good news. He seems quite happy and said that the wedding would be held in Orae early next year."

"Isobel told me that. She wants me to be her maid of honor."

Thomas nodded. "Well, you've had practice."

"Yes, I suppose. And now I'll finally get to see Orae."

"You'll like it. The snow is—," she looked at him and he glanced down at his hands. "It's quite beautiful in the morning. Undisturbed—pure white—sun shining on the mountains. That sort of thing."

"Sounds nice."

"It is."

There was a lull in conversation, allowing the sharp sounds of hooves and wheels against pavement to fill the silence. Thomas rubbed at his eyes, his mind a complete panic because he could not think of anything to say that would not lead somewhere back to his blunder at the gala. How was he going to fix anything this evening if he had trouble just holding a simple conversation? He wouldn't be able to get out two words much less a full explanation. It was awful, it was terrible, it was—

Frederick, evidently sensing his cousin's plight, asked, "So, Kitty-cat, did I ever tell you about the time my cad brothers left me up a tree with nothing but my knickers on?"

Catherine's eyes widened. "When did that happen?"

"I was only thirteen see, and Goliath wasn't around in Little Rook that summer so I had to fend for myself."

"You poor fellow," she said, unable to stop the smile crossing her lips.

"Oh, it was all right, really."

Thomas caught his cousin's eye. _Thank you_.

Frederick grinned. "Perfectly all right, and honestly, I deserved it. Wot happened was that I accidentally-on-purpose interrupted my eldest brother's wooing of this poppycock gal named Brittany of Sarphona. Now she was a right ugly bird, and not in looks but in character. She kicked my dog, which made me angry, so I decided to see if I could play a little prank on her. There I was, a pail of kitchen scraps in one hand, a freshly-caught frog in the other…"

The rest of the ride seemed to go along rather smoothly. Frederick entertained the carriage with stories of his childhood, most of which revolved around his own mischief making. Catherine laughed and applauded and almost forgot their destination, while Thomas interjected the occasional remark of his own even as his confidence began to build. Everything would be okay. The night would be a success, apologies and confessions would be made, and new relationships ventured upon.

But then, something changed.

Catherine looked out the window and recognized an all-too-familiar lamppost. It had scratches about its base. Names and initials and rude words chipped into the paint. She remembered that lamppost. And there—hadn't he climbed over that fence to fetch her some lilacs and gotten himself chased after by the lord's dog? She had laughed when he had leapt to the sidewalk, flowers crushed in his hand and his dark hair standing on end. They had both laughed, walking along this same street.

"Kitty-cat? Did you hear wot I said?"

"Hmm?"

Frederick cleared his throat, continuing, "I said, Madam Lillian grabbed me by my ear and dragged me all the way to Uncle Will's office. I left a streak of mud on the carpet and got scolded for that as well."

"Oh yes. Yes, she sounds like an awful person," Catherine said, catching sight of another familiar gate behind Frederick's left ear.

"She's a dragon, she is. Goliath's parents won't sack her though 'cause she'd probably burn the palace down. And I'm not the only lad who's had his nose singed by her. Why, my brother Richard was trying to sweet-talk this gal who turned out to be the dragon's niece, and that day did _not_ turn out well."

She tried to pay attention, she really did. But the memories were flooding back now, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. They had lingered at that corner after an evening party. And over there—two blocks up the street and to the left, was a café where they had spent hours discussing books and sipping tea. Joseph had always preferred tea to coffee. Had always known exactly what to say and how to say it in regards to Leon of Pharx and St. Micah the Fisherman and the scribe Ihsan of faraway Auxuria. He was a master of language, and had told her that no one else understood his talents and love of literature. No one else had cared to understand. But she had. She had cared so much and would have listened to him speak about those obscure writers for days.

Catherine barely heard a word of what Frederick was saying now. She laughed less and less, and gripped her hands tighter together in her lap as the landmarks began to get closer and closer. They were almost there now. Another minute, and they would be pulling up to the manor. To the big, white, three-story wood-paneled home. With the elegant staircase and the wide porch and arched windows that caught the glint of the sun at dusk. But it was dark outside, and the windows were aflame with candlelight. The wide porch, crowded with party guests. Pale blue and dark blue ribbons weaved through the banisters and around the porch railing.

"It appears we have arrived," Thomas said, peering out the window as the coach slowed to a stop.

"Fancy pile there, eh, Kitty-cat? Reckon the gent can afford good catering?"

"Yes, he probably can." She knew he could. Joseph's family was one of the wealthiest in Corona.

The footman opened the door. Thomas went out first, offered his hand, and glared as his cousin cheekily accepted his help out of the carriage. Thomas then helped Catherine down from the steps, and the footman boarded the vehicle once again. In the brief moment the coachman began to drive away, all three looked up at the house.

Catherine stared at the gabled roof and the windows—the well-dressed people milling in and out of the double doors leading from the porch to the dining hall. The windows started to blur together, and she took Thomas's arm to steady herself.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Let's—let's get inside. We're blocking the next carriage."

* * *

The interior of the manor was just as familiar as it had been three years ago. Even the rugs in the hallway were the same, and displayed on the walls were the paintings of deceased and living family members. And there he was. Depicted in fine clothes, sitting on that bench in the manor garden, reading. The portrait was a new edition to the front hall. She couldn't remember seeing the scene before except in real life, and even then Joseph would never have read the Coronan philosopher Sir David Smith.

Catherine moved out of the way of two gentlemen, the sounds of the chattering guests falling upon her ears. She had not seen anyone she recognized yet, but that was not too surprising. The family and friends Joseph would normally consort with was probably not people she or anyone of her social status would know. But then there were footsteps behind her, and Thomas came up on her side, holding two cups of punch.

He looked cheerful as he declared, "Apparently there's going to be dancing in a few minutes. The musicians are tuning right now but they'll—oh. Who's this?" His gaze had found the portrait.

She looked to the side, shrugging. "Just—some family member, I suppose."

"Right. Well anyway I—" he broke off upon seeing her face. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I feel fine."

"No, you don't. You didn't look fine in the carriage and you look even paler now." He frowned. "Cat, are you ill?"

"It's the lighting. And I'm _fine_." She turned back to the painting.

Thomas gritted his teeth together, knowing the girl was lying and fairly certainly he knew the reason why. Of course she wasn't feeling well. He had acted like a dunce at the gala. He had to make this right so she would be happy again.

That resolve failed to temper his annoyance when he asked, "Well, if you feel so _fine_, would you like to dance?"

"No thank you."

His heart clinched in his chest. He cleared his throat. "Are you sure? I mean—we didn't get to dance a lot at the gala and—"

"We didn't dance at all at the gala."

He sighed, preparing himself for an apology. "I know. And I want to—"

Catherine suddenly spotted a familiar, dark-haired figure in the crowd. "I'm going to go get some punch."

Thomas watched as she left, the drinks cold against his fingers.

Frederick popped up beside him. "How's it going, Goliath? Have you apologized yet?"

He shook his head, his brow furrowed. "No, I haven't. There's something wrong. I don't know what it is but I think—I think it's my fault."

"Well, you can fix it. Go, apologize to the gal," Frederick said, easily stealing one of the drinks from his cousin.

"She will hardly let me speak to her."

"Maybe she needs some space? Let her enjoy the party—talk with people other than you. Speaking of which," he sipped his punch, "do you actually know anyone at this party?"

"A few people. But Lord Elton is in the tobacco industry and we mostly have our counselors talk to him at the palace, if needed. Obviously this is a very different circle than our own."

"Merchants as opposed to politicians?"

"Yes, it would appear so."

Frederick looked again at his cousin's face. He patted the other man's shoulder. "It's okay, Tom. She just needs time."

He nodded, replying, "I know. I'm just—I want to make this better."

"I know you do, but you'll have to wait. Now why don't we fetch some of those cucumber sandwiches?"

* * *

Catherine walked along the wall of the dining room, passing by chatting guests while a violinist, flautist, and oboe player tuned in the corner. She shouldn't have run off like that, abandoning Thomas without so much as a backward glance. But Joseph's brother had been there and she had suddenly realized that she did not want Joseph to know she had attended his party. The very thought of the possibility made her cheeks burn. Oh why had she come here? Had she really thought that by facing this—facing all of that history—she could prove that she was strong? That she no longer cared about the past?

People were already pairing off to take to the dance floor, waiting for the music to start. She stepped aside to let a couple onto the floor, and wished Thomas was with her. She had rejected his offer to dance with more spite than she wanted to admit, but the hurt on his face had given her no satisfaction.

Thomas did not deserve her anger and resentment. _She_ was to blame, not him. All he had ever done was show kindness and courteousness. To her family, her friends, and most especially to herself. And he would never do anything to intentionally hurt someone. The gala had just been a mistake. It wasn't something personal, just a mistake. And the words he had said right before she and Isobel had left… He had wanted to apologize—she knew he had.

Catherine smiled, her first genuine smile all night. She would talk to him. Make everything all right, and then ask if they could leave. She really did not feel well at all.

"Apparently, this isn't the first girl Joseph has courted."

Catherine froze, her smile and happiness rapidly disappearing—the conversation behind her growing clearer.

"Really? Whatever do you mean?"

The first girl whispered with relish, "There was this other girl, years ago. She charmed him quite well—almost made him give up the tobacco business for her. But his family put an end to it real fast once they found out."

"Was it a bad match?"

"Really bad, as in her relations came from _up north_. It's become a sort of a dirty, family secret that everyone knows but is too polite to ask about. I mean—can you imagine if the match had gone through? Joseph managed to escape her but he's one of the lucky few when it comes to _those_ kinds of people. It's almost impossible to get away without having one's name stained forever."

A third girl joined in. "Hush, Alexandra. Those are just rumors. And what's really sad is that he's no longer on the market. All set up to take his father's title and some girl from Chantill comes down and in a year they're engaged? All the girls wanted Joseph. He's almost as desirable a match as the prince himself."

"Or at least as desirable as Michael of Florence. But did you hear about him? He's gone and shaved off his mustache!"

"Now that is tragic. Why on earth did he do a thing like that?"

Catherine failed to hear the reply over the quick, hard pounding of her heart. She began to walk away, moving through the crowd at an unbearably slow pace as memory after memory rose up around her. It was as if she were in a fog. Everything, every word spoken, every object and face—all of that she saw, heard, and felt was blending into something extremely painful. She had to get out of here. Away. Far away. Oh where was the door?

The music had already started behind her, a sharp jig that made her teeth rattle and headache grow worse. The heat and press of velvet jackets and lacy dresses was suffocating. And the candles provided so much light. It was too bright, too noisy. She couldn't think about anything but the words still echoing in her mind. '_Bad match_', '_dirty, family secret_', '_one of the lucky few when it comes to _those_ kind of people_'. The shame of it all. Three years later and people were still talking about it. How could she ever expect that anything would be different now?

She finally made it close to the door, accidently brushing against a man's arm in an effort to get past.

Thomas turned around. "Cat?"

She glanced back at him, and then continued to make her way towards the hallway. But he had grabbed her hand, stopping her, turning her around.

"Cat, wait. I know you're upset, but I want to talk to you." His voice was low. He was looking at her intently—far too intently.

She tried to pull away. "No, I'm sorry. I just—I need to go sit down or—"

"What's the matter?"

"Tommy, I can't—"

"It's my fault, isn't it? Because of the gala—Andrea?"

"Please, don't," she begged.

Thomas frowned. "Why? What's wrong with—" A loud, enthusiastic voice cut over the clamor of the party.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen!"

Catherine turned with the throng, facing the far end of the room where a little stage was set up. A beaming man stood upon it, his arms raised. The guests began to quiet as the musicians and dancers paused mid-song.

"Hello. I hope you are all enjoying the party! Before I introduce our beloved host and hostess, may I just thank you all for coming, and ask you to show your appreciation for our musicians and marvelous wait staff?"

There was a round of applause, and the man bowed. Catherine squeezed Thomas's hand.

The announcer waited for the clapping to die down before speaking again. "And now, it is my pleasure to introduce to you the reason for tonight's celebrations: Mr. Joseph Elton, the Younger, and his beautiful fiancée, Miss Louisa of Chantill!"

The applause and cheers grew louder as the newly engaged couple came forward. Catherine could see his face. He was older. More mature but still very much the same Joseph she could remember. He wore a slight grin, obviously uncomfortable by all the attention as the young woman beside him waved and smiled at the guests.

But now spots of brightness began to obscure her vision, and the whine in her ears became a roar.

"Tommy," Catherine said, her voice tense and quiet beneath the cheers of the guests.

"Yes?"

"Catch me."

She started to totter backward and, without a second's hesitation, he caught her in his arms. Most of the crowd was too distracted by what was going on at the stage, but the handful of people closest to them gasped in shock.

Thomas ignored the gasps and the other woman who fainted in response, his focus on supporting the girl in his arms. He searched her face, his worry increasing once he saw how white she was. Was she all right? What could possibly have—her eyes were opening.

"Are you okay, Cat? Cat?"

She stared at him in confusion.

Thomas nodded. "Right, let's get you out of here. Can you walk?" Without waiting for an answer, he started to help her out of the room.

The hallway was mercifully empty, and what curiosity the party guests had was soon directed towards the other swooning woman. Thomas glanced around for options before he ducked into the small alcove across the way. There were chairs, and he settled Catherine down on one, taking care that she wouldn't fall off.

Footsteps caused him to look up as a servant rounded the corner, a tray of dirty dishes in hand.

The servant stumbled in surprise. "Oh! What happened?"

"She fainted. Can you get me some water and—and something light. Crackers or something?"

"Right away, sir." The servant bowed and took off at a brisk trot.

"I fainted?"

Thomas turned back to Catherine. She was blinking slowly, her eyes becoming clearer. He knelt down in front of her and set a gentle hand on her cheek.

"Yes. Are you all right?"

She moaned, "No, my head hurts."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "I'm not surprised. I knew you were too ill to come here."

"We—we're still at the party, aren't we?"

"Shhh, it doesn't matter."

Catherine closed her eyes, and suddenly he could read pain on her face that had nothing to do with sickness. Thomas swallowed, his hand trembling slightly.

"If I did anything to upset you, Cat, I am so—"

She grimaced. "No, it's not your fault."

He removed his hand from her face and rested it on her knee.

"Okay, but you're still unhappy and I don't think it's because you're not feeling well. Tell me, how can I fix this?"

"You can't."

Thomas gazed at her, not understanding the statement. Of course he could fix it. He could fix anything she needed. It was his job and desire to do whatever he could to make her happy. And he would do whatever he could. He _had_ to.

"Cat, I don't think you—"

There were footsteps again, and soon the servant came around with a fresh tray bearing a plate of crackers and cup of water. He set it down on one of the other chairs, straightening. "Is she all right?"

Thomas stood. "Yes, much better now. Thank you."

"Do you—um," the servant looked at Catherine, and then back at the prince. "Do you want me to fetch the master?"

"No!"

Both men turned, startled to hear the strength in Catherine's voice.

She shook her head, adding in a quieter tone, "No, Higgins, you do not have to fetch him. Go back to the party."

Wondering where on earth she had learned the servant's name, Thomas turned back to Higgins. "No, thank you."

"All right, then. I'll be off." Higgins dropped a bow and nervously left the room.

Thomas picked up the cup from the tray. "I think you should rest and have some water. Go ahead, Cat, drink."

She gazed at him, muttering, "Tommy, there's something I need to—"

He shook his head firmly. "Eat first. Get some strength back and then we can—we can talk."

She did as ordered, nibbling at the edge of a cracker and taking sips of water. Thomas sat down next to her, leaning back in his chair. He could hear the sounds of music and laughter drifting in from the dining hall. The musicians were playing a song that he recognized. It was a recent piece, written by one of the most popular composers amongst Coronan elite. However, his mind was anywhere but the party. Something was wrong. Catherine was distressed and unhappy. She was anxious, and he did not like it at all.

He flexed his muscles within his jacket sleeves, his jaw tightening with an anger he could not yet place.

"I wish you'd tell me what's going on," Thomas said, glaring at the opposite wall.

Catherine took a deep breath, setting aside the nearly untouched plate. For a moment, it seemed as if she was not going to respond and simply stare into her cup. Then she spoke.

"What do you know of Joseph, Lord Elton's son?"

Thomas's anger abated due to surprise. "Well he—he's obviously engaged. I think I've talked to him once when he and his father came to the palace for an agricultural trade meeting. He's a good fellow. Modest, thoughtful." He hesitated. "Why?"

"I know him, Tommy. Or at least, I did three years ago. We met at a party and we became friends and I grew," she sighed, her fingertips stroking the curves of her glass, "I grew quite fond of him."

Thomas stiffened. He had not expected this.

"It was hard not to—he loved literature and writing and he was a good dancer. We laughed and talked. Each time I saw him I liked him more. But it was the way he smiled at me—the way he listened to what I said… I thought he cared about me." The words hurt so much, but she had to say them. Thomas deserved to know the truth. He deserved to know why it had happened.

"I was wrong, though," Catherine sniffed. "I was young. Full of silly ideas of love and romance—things I didn't even understand—and I was wrong. I just had this—this plan built up about the future. It was stupid, really."

"That's not stupid."

"Yes it was. Because if there is one thing Joseph's family could not stand—just one thing—it's a Midlander. The Elton bloodline runs deep in Corona and I—I am half-Midlander. An outcast in proper society. Certainly not a match for Joseph or anyone else." The cup shook in her hands, and she set it aside, praying he did not see the tears coming to her eyes.

It was a tale he had heard before. A young, wealthy Coronan wants to court someone of a lower class. Family disowns the son or daughter, refusing an inheritance and blessing. The child abandons his or her would-be-sweetheart for sake of money, reputation, or family favor. But he had never known someone who had endured such rejection. For it to be Catherine…

"His father put an end to it. Told Joseph that he was being ridiculous and that I wasn't worth it. And he—he didn't stop him. He actually agreed w-with him." There was a soft noise. She was crying.

Thomas did not know what to do. He wanted to hold her but something stopped him. A fury, the likes of which he had never known before, burned in his veins. He had to quench it. Catherine was more important now than anything he felt and she—she was crying.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, giving it to her. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, emitting a loud honk. It would have been funny if he didn't know how much heartbreak was in the action.

"Why did you come here, Cat? With everything that happened, why?"

She shrugged miserably, crumpling the handkerchief between her fingers. "I don't know. I wanted to prove something, I guess. Put on a brave face and—and forget the past. But being here," she looked around, "in this place, surrounded by memories… All I can think about is what he said to me. The shame I felt and—and how right he was that the whole idea was absurd. That it was impossible."

"He wasn't right. He never was."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter who your family is or where you came from. Not to me, not to anyone who truly cares about you."

Catherine stared at him. "'Truly cares'?"

Thomas coughed, his ears going red. "Well, yes. I mean, I think that—" he hesitated, taking in her pale face and red eyes. Now was not the time for such talk. Not with the rage flaring inside him and her so upset. Right now she needed a friend, not a suitor.

He sighed, rising to his feet. "I think that what we need to do now, is get you home. I'll have Freddy bring the carriage around and you—you stay here and rest."

He started to move towards the hallway, but she called him back. "Tommy."

"Hmm?"

She twisted the handkerchief in her lap. "I—I'm sorry I didn't dance with you."

He smiled. "It's all right." Then he left.

* * *

Frederick came out of the dining hall not long after Thomas had exited the alcove. The man was balancing a plate piled high with delectables while also twirling a toothpick between his fingers. He had a grin on his face, but the grin faltered upon seeing his cousin's storm cloud expression.

"Wot happened?"

"Cat's not feeling well. She's back in that alcove—listen, can you do me a favor?" Thomas asked.

"Name it."

"Have one of the servants bring the coach around. Cat needs to get home."

Frederick's eyes narrowed. "Wot about the party? Your plan?"

"Something came up. I'll tell you later." He waved his hand, already starting to walk away.

"Righto. But where are you going?"

"To get my jacket."

Frederick blinked at his cousin's retreating form, frowning. Thomas was already wearing his jacket.

* * *

Thomas located the coat closet and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He immediately began to pace, the smell of fancy fabric and perfumed shawls filling his nostrils. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the crack beneath the door. But he didn't need to see, and even if he did, all he would see was the color red.

"Her _family_? You broke it off because of her family?" He turned, heels digging into the rug. He couldn't understand it. Of all the stupid reasons to break it off with someone, a person's familial relation was one of the most idiotic. Not to mention—it was Catherine! For goodness sake, no one else in the entire world could measure up to her! But that arrogant, selfish man saw fit to not only leave her, but to insult her while doing it. He not only broke her heart, he crushed her spirit as well. He made her think she wasn't worth anything. He made her question her own value—her own significance as a person. He had rendered her certain that everything she was, everything she came from, would always be a hindrance to her future. It would always limit her relationships. That she could not be anything more than what 'cultured, Coronan nobility' deemed fit. That she could never be with anyone who held a higher, more respectable rank in society than herself.

Thomas wheeled around again, panting. He was so enraged, so livid—his jaw clenched, a harsh snarl tearing from his throat. He couldn't control himself. His fist shot out and smacked into a row of coats, flying straight on until it hit the closet wall with a loud 'wham!'

For a second, Thomas merely gaped at the spot. Then a fiery pain raced up his arm and he yelped, clutching his right hand to his chest. He bit his lip, trying to prevent any more shouts from escaping as his fingers continued to scream about their new, excruciating condition. He had felt pain like this as an adolescent after breaking his arm falling off the banister at home. What on earth had he hit?

Still cradling his hand against his chest, Thomas reached out and gingerly moved the coats aside, feeling the back wall. There was an unmistakable dent in the plaster—and beneath the crumbs—a metal post. He had struck right through the wall and hit a support beam.

"Ow…" he groaned, adding in a string of words that would have earned him a slap from his mother.

His anger was still there, but had been reduced by the physical pain of his hand and the emotional trauma of his heart. Catherine needed him. What was he doing in a closet punching holes in the wall and breaking his fingers? He had a much more pressing place to be.

Shoving his right hand, which now felt several sizes too big, into his jacket pocket, Thomas opened the door and came back out into the hallway. It was again empty, and he hoped that his cousin had managed to get the carriage without too much trouble. They would drop Catherine off, and then speed directly to the palace so the court physician could have a look at his hand. That was the plan, and it was a good, simple one. Thomas liked that plan.

"Wait a moment—your Highness!"

He turned around, thinking it was a servant but—no. No. It was the man from the painting. The man who had hurt Catherine and broken her heart. The man who now had a surprisingly large hole in the wall of his closet.

Joseph came to a halt in front of the prince and dropped a hasty bow. "Hello, your Highness. I'm sorry I didn't catch you sooner. To be honest, I didn't expect the prince to come to my engagement party. We just sent the invitation to be courteous—I never thought that you—"

"A friend of mine asked me to come with her." It was amazing his voice sounded so calm.

"Ah, yes. Your friend." Joseph smiled uncertainly, clapping his hands together. "One of my servants came and told me—she fell ill? Is there anything I can do?"

Several unfortunate ideas came to mind, including a rather impolite expression involving a red-hot poker and one's backside. But Thomas simply said, "No, I don't believe so."

"Are you sure?" The man shifted on his feet, and Thomas saw his face twitch. "I mean… I'd like to know that she's okay."

Thomas could not take it. He had to say something.

He lifted his chin, glaring down at the man. "You know what, she's not okay. She hasn't been okay in three years."

Joseph's face flushed red, and he faltered. "Oh. You—you know."

"Yes, I do. And I also know what you have given up. Well, sir, allow me to say that I've never met another like her. She's beautiful, she's intelligent, she's enormously kind—she far surpasses any woman I have ever met. And she came here tonight, knowing full well what sort of pain she would experience, to celebrate you. And if she wasn't here you can be sure that we would not be having a civil conversation right now."

"You love her."

"Yes, I do."

Joseph seemed to visibly shrink. "I—I'm guessing you probably want to punch me in the face."

"I do want to punch you in the face, but I'm not going to. She deserves better than that." Thomas made to go, but the man was speaking again.

"I know I—I can't really say anything," he muttered, staring at the floor.

Thomas waited.

"I've always been a coward. My father doesn't stand for any sort of 'nonsense'. I guess I've just grown used to the idea that what he says goes. But I never thought he'd go so far as to—well, I suppose I did know. I just hoped he wouldn't. And, when he did, I didn't want to hurt her but it just fell apart." Joseph closed his eyes and shook his head. For a second, Thomas could see the man Catherine had described to him. The thoughtful, intelligent gentleman Thomas had always assumed him to be.

Joseph took a deep breath and looked at the prince full in the face. "I have no right to ask you to do this but—look after her. Please. She didn't deserve what happened and she—I want her to be happy."

Thomas did not want to promise the man anything. But pity tugged at him, and he gave him a short nod.

Joseph sighed. "Thank you, your Highness."

"You're welcome. And I will send a man down tomorrow with money to pay for the hole in the wall of your closet."

"In the wall?"

But Thomas was already on his way to the front door.

* * *

The carriage ride to Lord Brian's house felt long, but no one talked. Not even Frederick, who could feel the tension on the air and knew better than to disturb it. Catherine spent most of the time gazing out the window or folding and unfolding the prince's handkerchief. It was of fine quality, with little, yellow suns dotting the edges and his initials monogrammed with purple thread. It had been very thoughtful of him, to give it to her when she had been crying and feeling so miserable. Such a small action, but one charged with meaning.

She looked up, and saw that Thomas was gazing at her. She returned her attention on the handkerchief in her lap. Thomas, meanwhile, was thinking over everything she had said and how she had acted. He knew, somehow, that Joseph had not been the only person she had been worrying about that night. He himself had some part in it. But how could he put things right?

He pondered this problem the whole way, and did not really come up with a solution until the carriage stopped outside 202 Charleston Street. The footboy came and opened the door. Catherine looked at the two men. Frederick pretended to be interested with the lint from his pocket while Thomas met her gaze.

"Um, thank you for the ride."

"You're welcome."

"And for the handkerchief," she said, holding it out, now neatly folded, to him.

He took it and ran his fingers over the suns before suggesting, "How about I walk you to the door?"

They did not speak, and Thomas took care not to touch her as they walked up the path to the porch. They stopped just before the door, turning to look at each other.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Before I go, there's something I feel I should tell you."

Catherine nodded, her green eyes fixed on what she could see of his face in the light of the windows.

"And if the subject is too painful or if you just don't want to talk about it, please stop me."

"Tommy, say what you're going to say," she said.

"All right." He took her hand. "I will."

Thomas stared down at her, murmuring, "Joseph was," he shook his head, "gravely mistaken when he broke it off with you."

She watched him.

"And I think he knows it. And I think he's sorry about how he treated you. And if he had a second chance, I believe there would be a stark difference in his actions. Because you are far—far above his social rank, Cat. Far above it. You are a woman of such grace and kindness and excellence that you have risen above the class society has assigned you. And he knows that. And I hope that _you_ never forget that." He pressed a kiss to her hand, his mustache soft against her knuckles.

She smiled, whispering, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And, goodnight."

He bowed, and then strode back to the carriage, marching erect with his head held high—not in pride, but in sincerity.

Catherine knocked on the door, watching as the prince departed.

He was such a good man. Such a strong, honest, caring good man. He was Thomas. He was her best friend.

And, without knowing it, she loved him.


	24. Cleaning and conversation

**Author Note**: So, I've started work O.o it's been a bit of an adjustment but hopefully I'll be reading and writing with the best of those job-like people! Also, this was a bit of a speed-write so I apologize if it's not fantastic, but I really wanted to get this out before I had to focus on work writing. A big thank you to all of your wonderful readers, favers, and reviewers. I appreciate your encouragement and enthusiasm for this story! :D It's nice to know that there are still some hanger-ons even though it's been years since I've started this thing (I'm looking at you, ZoraAngel and Punzie the Platypus (apologies if I've missed anyone)) and you new readers (MJLupin and IceQueenandFireQueen). And of course, all the unnamed 'Guests' who are all still so much appreciated even if they don't have accounts :D Thank you all very much! Hope ya'll enjoy this chapter!

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Thomas scanned the upper recesses of the cupboard, trying to spot any remaining collections of dust. He ran a cloth over the corners just to be safe, and the bandage wrapped about his middle and ring fingers caught on a protruding nail head.

"Balderdash," he muttered, pausing to free his fingers.

"Did you find another spider?" Catherine asked somewhere above him.

"No. Just—there's a nail here that keeps catching on my bandage."

"You didn't hurt yourself did you?"

"No."

"Let me see."

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't hurt myself."

"Well maybe I can rewrap it then."

Thomas backed out from beneath the cupboard, coming up on his knees to find Catherine kneeling beside him. She looked at him expectantly, and he gave her his injured hand.

"It's fine," he said, watching as she unwound the fabric.

"I know, I know," she replied. "But you have to promise me that the next time you go and do something stupid while 'exercising' you don't break any more bones."

He noticed the concern in her eyes and smiled. "I promise."

Catherine began to rewrap his fingers. "Good. Now, after you've finished cleaning out the cabinets, please put the jars and preserves back. Fruits on the top, vegetables on the bottom."

He nodded. "Very well. But is a tomato a fruit or a vegetable?"

Catherine looked up at him and grinned. "You don't know the difference and yet we trust you with our taxes?"

He smirked. "It's a fruit. I was just testing you."

"Naturally." She started for the hallway door.

"Where are you off to now?"

"I need to check on the girls. Frieta is refusing to clean her room so I'm going to go send Mary up to nag her."

"Will that work?"

"No, but I like feeling productive," Catherine said as she walked out of the kitchen.

Smiling, Thomas peered into the cupboard. He gave it another cursory swipe and, satisfied that all was tidy, began to place jars and cans back onto their shelves.

It had been about a week since the party at Lord Elton's house. Today was the first day that Thomas had been able to see Catherine. This was due in part to his own work schedule, but also because he, as his cousin wisely instructed him, wanted to give her some time to recover. Yesterday she had sent a letter asking him to help watch over the girls while her parents took a day trip to the home farm. It was only when Thomas arrived that he realized it wasn't the girls Catherine wanted help with: it was the cleaning. For some reason, Catherine had decided that the house needed to be cleaned from top to bottom and had enlisted his help in the endeavor. There was also something about Elizabeth visiting in a few days and her mother had asked her to prepare for it, but Thomas missed most of this information while unclogging the kitchen sink.

Overall, Thomas thought as he returned the last jar to the cabinet, Catherine seemed back to her normal self. Cheerful, clever, and attractive in every way imaginable. Granted, perhaps she had gone a little overboard with the cleaning, but he did not mind that so much. At least he had a reason to be here with her instead of up at the palace amidst piles of paperwork and grumpy councilors.

He opened the next cupboard and began to pull out pots, pans, and a few instruments whose purposes he could hardly guess. Some of these looked like armor or weapons of torture. He picked up a bowl-like object, peering through the holes that dotted its bottom and sides. Was this some kind of facemask?

There was some scuffling near the hallway door, and he looked over to find Jane tiptoeing into the kitchen. She froze as soon as she saw him, and Thomas smiled. "Hiding from your sister, are you?"

She shook her head, bare toes tapping against the tile floor. "Um, no. Just—I'm looking for my shoes."

"Well, they certainly aren't in here. Cat has had me cleaning out these cabinets all morning and everything I've found belongs here."

"Um—" Jane glanced up at the window where a vase of new roses glinted in the sunlight.

Thomas raised his eyebrows, following her gaze. "Well, almost everything. Those are some of the last to bloom, according to my gardeners. Thought I'd bring some in before it was too late."

"They're pretty. Katie—Katie likes them."

"I hope she does." He watched her for a moment, realizing that this was quite possibly the longest time he had spent talking to the girl.

Finally, Jane shrugged and said in a small voice, "Um, bye."

She went down the hallway. Thomas smiled again, and he began to wipe out the empty cabinet. Thankfully, there were no spiders to kill this time around, and no nails to snag his bandage. The court physician had said his fingers would be fully healed in a few weeks, provided he rested and applied ice to keep the swelling down. Hopefully the man never found out what he was doing today, then.

Thomas was returning the pots and pans to their cupboard when Catherine entered the kitchen again. She looked frustrated, and he quietly finished his job while she vented behind him.

"Their room still isn't cleaned! And Georgiana's gone and knocked over the dollhouse upstairs and there are toys all over the hallway. The twins keep arguing about whose turn it is to clean the bathroom, Emma refuses to dust downstairs, and Jane's disappeared _again_."

"She was looking for her shoes."

"What?" Catherine asked.

"She came in here looking for her shoes and I said they weren't here and she left."

"Oh." She paused, looking around. "Did you finish up the cabinets?"

"Just cleaned the last one," he said proudly, standing up and closing the cupboard door with his foot. "What else do you have for me?"

"Right now, I think I just want to sit down." Catherine took a seat at the table, and Thomas joined her.

"You do realize that you don't have to have the entire house cleaned, don't you?"

She set her chin in her hands, shrugging. "I thought it'd be a nice surprise for Mother and Daddy when they get back tonight. Besides, Lizzie's coming home and I want it to be clean for her. And George is supposed to come over today."

"George? Why would he be here?" Thomas asked.

Catherine sighed, answering, "He has business down south and Lizzie asked him to drop off some of her old things while he's passing through. Having nine girls, my family has always lived on hand-me-downs. I suppose she's doing it out of habit now."

"Why doesn't your sister just bring it down when she comes?"

"I don't know. It's just how it worked out. Maybe she wanted more room for her luggage when she comes to visit—she'll be staying at home a few days. George will be out of town and Lizzie said she wanted to spend the time with us while he's traveling."

"But who's looking after Dean?"

Catherine tilted her head, smiling. "Don't worry, your Highness, the duchy of Dean is in safe hands while its duke is away."

"I'm only expressing concern for my people, that's all," Thomas said.

"But you know George. He loves the people of Dean more than you do and he'll take care of everything. What really matters is that he'll be here in a few minutes and I'll need you to—why is there water on the floor?"

Thomas frowned and turned, suddenly noticing the puddle seeping out from beneath the sink. He hastily grabbed his cleaning rag and tossed it onto the floor, mopping up the water. "Please get me a pan."

Catherine did as asked, watching as he opened the cupboard beneath the sink and slid the dish under the steadily dripping pipe.

"I must've messed up something when I unclogged it. Look—see how this one isn't tightened enough?" He fiddled with the leaking joint, and accidently produced more water.

"Do you need a wrench?" she asked, bending down for a closer look.

"No—I can get it with my hand. I'll just need a minute and another—" Thomas turned, and suddenly realized how close she was. Her face was not two inches from his own, her green eyes bright and striking.

Catherine raised her eyebrows. "Yes? Another what?"

"Um—another—another rag."

For a second, she couldn't figure out what was wrong. But then she, too, realized how close they were. Her cheeks reddened, and she quickly turned away. "So you know how to fix the plumbing?" Her voice came out higher than usual, and she winced.

Thomas shook his head, his mind clearing as he tried to focus on something other than Catherine's eyes. "I—I remember spending an entire afternoon with a plumber when I was a boy. Something happened to one of the kitchen sinks at the palace and he was called in. I thought it was—oh, thank you." She had handed him the rag. "I thought it was fascinating so I got underneath the pipes and watched him work."

"So you were one of those boys. Interested in engineering and the like?" Catherine asked, sitting on the counter.

Thomas listened to the 'plink-plink' of dripping water right next to his ear. "I wasn't very good at it. Mother laughed when I informed her I wanted to be a plumber."

"Well, I hope you learned _something_ about plumbing that afternoon," she said, hearing a thud as one of the man's shoulders collided with the side of the cabinet. He probably couldn't fit all the way in there. He was too big, too broad-shouldered.

"Don't hurt yourself."

"I'm not going to hurt myself. Honestly."

Catherine smirked as the prince continued to work. He had not argued at all when she asked him to help clean house. He simply got down to business, dusting and washing and rearranging kitchen supplies. The chores of the morning had prevented any long conversation between them, and for that she was grateful. She did not want to revisit what had happened the last time they had seen each other. For, although Thomas's parting speech on the doorstep had been comforting, she still had uncertainties. Not necessarily Joseph but… there was that pretty girl from Florence.

Trying to sound as casual as possible, Catherine asked, "So, Tommy, have you—have you heard from Andrea lately?"

There was a puzzled grunt below. "Andrea? Where's that coming from?"

"I'm just curious, that's all. Is she still in town?"

"Actually, no—no she's not."

Her eyes widened. "Oh?"

"As a matter of fact," he emerged from beneath the sink, grinning at her despite the spray of water on his face, "I've got news for you."

"What news?" Catherine asked, immediately uneasy. He looked too happy. What news about Andrea could possibly make him that happy?

He sat up, brushing damp hair away from his eyes. "It's really quite a scandal—and for the record, Freddy told me about it first. He's always been a bit of a gossip."

"What do you mean by 'scandal'?"

"Do you know Michael of Florence?" he asked.

"The duke's son? The one who keeps courting and breaking the hearts of every girl in the country?"

"That's the one."

"Yes, I know him. But what does he have to do with Andrea?"

Thomas shook his head slightly, squeezing the rag in his hands. "Well, about three days ago, he and Miss Andrea were found having a—how shall I put this—a '_rendezvous_' in Lord Clayton's coat closet. The man had just proposed, and she was giving him her most enthusiastic agreement. Then they went, woke up a reverend, and eloped that same night."

"Are you serious?" Catherine asked, too stunned to celebrate with a victory dance.

Thomas nodded. "Quite serious. Apparently the two were old flames a few years ago, but Michael broke it off and moved to the capital. Their families hate each other—have for decades. Michael's father is threatening to take away his claim to the duke's seat; it's gotten that bad."

"And what about Michael and Andrea?"

"Oh, they're deliriously happy and don't care one way or the other. Duke Alexander is having a time locating them right now. He and Lord Samuel want to either annul the marriage or start a civil war, but my father is trying to reason with them. They keep sending him rude letters."

"How awful," Catherine exclaimed, still trying to digest this news.

Thomas snorted. "Not really. Father thinks they're hilarious. He keeps reading them aloud at dinner."

She had to fight the smile crossing her face. "Not the letters—Michael and Andrea's families. If Michael and Andrea love each other and promise to do everything they can for each other, then it shouldn't matter what stupid feud is between their parents."

"Ah, a romantic are you?"

"_Tommy_."

"No, I understand. I just—well, I suppose I'm a tad disappointed."

"Why?" Catherine asked, not certain if she wanted to hear the answer.

He shrugged. "Well, assuming their families do make friends, there is absolutely no way Lord Samuel will be moving his surveyor business to the capital. That's, um—" he scratched the back of his head. "That's why I was paying so much attention to Andrea at the gala. I wanted to impress her and therefore impress her father enough so that he would move his work under the power of the crown."

"_That's_ why you were dancing with her? Work?"

He nodded, already pulling himself back under the sink. "Yes. But what really matters is that now Florence is in chaos and the heir to the duchy is nowhere to be found."

"That's not all that matters. I'm sure Michael and Andrea will show up eventually and everything will work out." She tilted her head, smiling. "And it's nice, you know. Two people who love each other, managing to work it all out in the end no matter what happened before. Stories like that—they give you hope."

There was silence as Thomas stared up at the sink's pipes in the darkness. Water was still splashing in the pan beside him, but he did not notice it. His mind was focused on a more pressing and complicated matter. Two people who love each other. Working it out in the end. What marvelous words; and so true. And that could be applied to anybody. Not just Michael and Andrea, but to anybody. Should he chance it? Probably. Yes, he should say something. Now. Before the moment was past.

He took a deep breath. "You know, you're right, Cat. You're absolutely right. It does give you hope. And I think that it's true that if a man and a woman truly care about it each other—then they should—they should do something about it. Perhaps not as drastic as eloping but—well, they should at least talk about it."

There was still silence. She must be thinking over his words.

Thomas coughed. "And—and, you know, I—" he coughed again. "I think we should talk about… us. About whatever we are. I care about you, Cat. A lot. More than I ever cared about anyone, really. You're just beautiful and you're—you're so kind. And smart, too. Incredibly smart. And I think—no, I _want_ to make you happy. I want to be there for you and I—" he sighed. "Oh, don't just stand there. Say something."

"Well, I'm flattered, Thomas, but I'm afraid I'm already married."

Thomas sat up so fast his head clonked against the pipe. He fell back, knocking over his dish of water and moaning at the stars blazing within his vision.

"Confound it, George!" he groaned, blinking away the sparks.

George's face appeared, smirking down at him. "Hurts, doesn't it? Here—let me help you up." He held out a hand and hauled the other man to his feet.

"Cat's not here, is she?" Thomas asked, wincing at the kitchen, now empty save for George and himself.

"No. I'm guessing she left before you started talking about your feelings," George said, picking up a crate from the floor and bringing it over to the table.

"Oh, brilliant. How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough to blush. But mostly because the way you were going about it was absolute rubbish."

He glared at him, but George seemed unperturbed. "It's not my fault you're bad at explaining yourself. Perhaps a face-to-face would work better next time?"

"I didn't even hear you come in—I didn't hear Cat leave, either." Thomas rubbed at his forehead.

"I suspect one of the other girls called for her. Anyway," George tapped the crate on the table, "here's the stuff Lizzie wanted me to bring over."

"What's in it?"

He shrugged, glancing over at the sink. "No clue. So, Katie's got you fixing sinks now? Didn't Lizzie tell her what you did to my gig?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "That was an accident."

"Here, let me have a go," George said, rolling up his sleeves and crouching down in front of the sink.

"What do you know about sinks?"

George peered into the cupboard. "Believe it or not, Thomas, I'm probably more adept at fixing things than you are. I've got more experience on my side."

"You're a duke," Thomas said, annoyed.

"Yes, but I've dabbled in engineering. You're going to have to clean up this water later."

"Yes, I know. Thank you for pointing that out," the prince muttered.

Beneath the sink, George let out a short laugh. "Aha—you were twisting the joint wrong. You know, normally you think lefty-loosey, righty-tighty? Well, whoever built this house did the plumbing wrong so it's actually righty-loosey and lefty-tighty." There was a faint squeak, and the dripping ceased. "There. See, easy as carding wool."

"Of course it is."

George shook his head, rising to his feet. "Don't worry, Thomas. I nearly flooded the kitchen last time Lord Brian asked me to look at the sink. He's too cheap to hire a real plumber so he makes do."

"Should you be talking about him like that?" Thomas asked.

"His words, not mine." He clapped his hands together. "So, Thomas, do you think Katie will be busy for a while?"

"How should I know? I don't even know if she's in the same room or not."

"Well, just to be sure…" George walked over to the hallway door and shut it, turning the lock. Then he moved on to the dining room door.

Thomas watched him warily. "George, what are you doing?"

"Getting some privacy."

"…Why?"

"Because," he said, pulling the curtains shut, "I have to tell you something and I don't want anyone else to hear."

"Um, George—" he was cut off as the other man set his hands upon his shoulders.

"Please, Thomas. I have to tell you this, all right? I've been keeping quiet about it for far too long and Lizzie said I couldn't tell anyone in the family. And you're not family—well, not yet—so I can tell you."

The man looked desperate, so Thomas nodded. "All right, if you have to."

"Thomas."

"George?"

"I'm going to be a father!" George abruptly hugged his future sovereign around the middle.

"Um." Thomas bestowed a few pats upon the other man's back, feeling thoroughly awkward. "Con—congratulations, George. That's fantastic news."

"It's brilliant! Absolutely amazing!"

"George, please let go of me."

"Oh, I'm sorry." George released the other man and beamed. "I'm just so excited. I was practically singing when Lizzie told me! I mean, can you imagine? Me—a dad! Lizzie's pregnant and I'm going to be a dad, Thomas!"

He nodded, glancing up at the ceiling. "Yes, I know. Keep it down or Cat will find out."

"Oh, yes—shhh." Assuming a look of seriousness, or as serious as he could get with a grin sneaking across his face, George nodded. "Yes, you must promise me you will not tell anyone. _Especially_ Katie. Please, Thomas, I don't want my child to be fatherless."

"I will not tell Cat or anyone else."

George nodded, holding out his hand. "Great, thanks."

Thomas took the other man's hand and shook it. "You're welcome. It's good to know that the duke's seat at Dean has an heir. And, I must say, I believe that you and Lizzie will be excellent parents."

For a moment, George looked taken aback. Then he smiled, replying quietly, "Thank you, Thomas. That's very kind of you."

"You're my friend, George. It's not kindness so much as it's honesty. You will make a remarkable father."

George opened his mouth to reply, but then the grandfather clock in the parlor began to chime the hour. He looked over his shoulder at the door. "Is it that time already? I should get going or I'll be late for my conference."

"Quite right."

George started to make his way to the door but then turned back. "Um, Thomas, about the other thing—just tell Katie how you feel."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "That's much easier said than done."

"Then show her. Not just roses, but, there _is_ more than one way to tell a girl you care about her."

"I will keep that in mind, thank you. Goodbye, George, and good luck."  
"Same to you," George tipped a nod and departed.

Thomas sighed, thinking the man's words over as he set about cleaning up the spilt water. Show her? How on earth was he supposed to do that? He had brought flowers, he had danced with her, had given her compliments—what more could be done? What else would make his intentions completely clear? Of course, there was always physical affection. But that seemed too forward, too daring, and… well, it wasn't as if he had much experience in that area when it came to women.

His ears grew hot and he rose to his feet, trying to distract himself by wringing the rag out over the sink. Behind him, the door to the hallway opened as Catherine walked into the kitchen.

"Tommy, have you finished with the sink because—what's this?" She was frowning at the crate on the table.

"Oh, um, George brought that," Thomas answered, turning around to look at her.

Catherine's face brightened. "George's here? Where is he?"

"He had to leave a bit quickly—work to do, you know."

She sighed. "Well it's a shame he didn't stay longer—the girls would've liked to see him. Did he say anything?"

A grin suddenly spread across Thomas's face at her question. Catherine was an aunt and she didn't even know it yet. The idea struck him as humorous for some reason, and he laughed.

She looked up at him. "What?"

He shook his head, still smirking. "No—George didn't—well he did say something but it doesn't matter."

"No, you're smiling. What did he say?"

"Nothing of consequence," Thomas replied, busying himself with wiping down the countertop.

He was still chuckling, and Catherine's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Tommy, what's so funny?"

"Can't really say."

"Did George tell you that stupid sheep joke?"

"No. What sheep joke?" he asked, interested.

"It's rude. I'm not going to tell you."

"All right then." He still had that cheeky little grin on his face, and she crossed her arms.

"Are you going to tell me what George said?"

"Nope."

"That's not fair," she said.

Thomas shrugged, plopping the rag into the sink. "I'm prince, I don't have to be fair."

Catherine rolled her eyes, replying, "Very well, _your_ _Highness_. Are you done here?"

"As far as I can tell."

"Good. Would you mind taking this box up to my room?"

"It would be my pleasure," Thomas said, coming over and picking up the crate.

She made a face, poking him in the shoulder. "Mm-hmm, I'm going to find out what George told you."

"No you won't. We shook hands, and a man never breaks a promise after shaking hands."

"Men are silly."

He gave her a wink as he started for the hallway. Catherine waited until he was gone before giggling.

* * *

Meanwhile, somewhere above the prince and his not-quite-girlfriend, Catherine's younger sisters were doing everything in their power to avoid cleaning. Frieta was lounging on the bed while Mary sat at their vanity brushing her hair. There were books and odds and ends strewn over the floor, while a pile of dresses sat next to the wardrobe waiting to be hung up. The lower dresser drawer was also open, but stockings and other delicates were only half-heartedly shoved in there.

Mary glanced over at the chemise dangling from the bedpost and frowned. "You know, Frieta, maybe Katie's right. Maybe we should tidy up a bit."

"I don't see why. It's not like Liz is staying in our room! And anyway, I'm not keen on doing anything Katie says. She's a right bossy prude, she is."

"Frieta, that's not nice."

Frieta glared at the ceiling, muttering, "I'm not trying to be nice."

"You're just cross because you haven't been able to see that funny man we met in Livesley."

"That's not true," she retorted.

Mary smiled at her own reflection in the mirror. "Yes it is, and don't pretend it isn't. I know you like him a lot."

"Quiet, Mary!" Frieta hissed. "Emma will hear you and then the whole blooming house will know."

"Emma will hear what?" Emma poked her head around the door.

Frieta waved her hand at her. "None of your business. Now get out."

"No. Why were you talking about me?" Emma demanded, coming in and taking a seat on the pile of dresses.

"We weren't talking about you. We were talking about…" Frieta glanced around before finishing, "Katie."

Mary shot her sister a look of disapproval, but Frieta ignored her.

Emma's eyes widened. "Oh, about Katie and Tommy? Jane said he brought her roses again."

"Hmmph. If that's all the bally man's going to do they'll never get together. What he needs is some backbone and a good kick in the—"

"Frieta!" Mary exclaimed.

"_Backside_, I was just going to say _backside_."

Emma sighed happily. "Well I hope they do get together soon. It's _so_ romantic. And maybe we'll be invited to the palace! I bet it's full of gold and velvet and…"

Frieta squeezed her eyes shut in annoyance as her little sister continued to describe the wonders of the palace. It was not until the details got to peacock-feather mattresses that she asked, "Emma, aren't you supposed to be cleaning?"

"Aren't you?" she said immediately.

Frieta squinted at her. "Since when did you get so smart?"

There was a rather loud creak as someone ascended the last stair outside. For a moment, all three listened to some confused shuffling. Then Thomas walked past their door, stopped, and leaned into the doorway.

"Which of these rooms is Cat's?"

"The one by the stairs," Mary answered.

"Right." His forehead wrinkled at the state of their bedroom. "Um, aren't you supposed to be cleaning?"

Mary squeaked and snatched her chemise from the bedpost. Frieta merely gave him a stern look.

Thomas shrugged. "Whatever. Just, you know, your sister's doing a lot of work and it would be nice if you helped her."

"Fine," Frieta said, still glaring at him.

Thomas shook his head and walked down the hallway. Mary let out a sigh of relief and tossed her chemise back onto the bedpost. Emma looked at Frieta.

"Why don't you like Tommy?"

Frieta groaned. "It's not that I don't like _him_. It's just that I don't like the way he's dragging his feet."

Mary set her hairbrush down, remarking, "I thought he was walking normally."

"Oh, Mary, go and start sorting our stockings. You know, the way Katie likes them—stripes to the left, spots to the right, solids in the middle and whites below. Dancing turnips," Frieta said, leaning back on her pillows, "If those two do end up married, I hope Katie makes the prince sort his socks like that. It'd be hilarious."

"_Will_ they get married?" Emma asked.

"Who can tell at this rate? We might as well just kidnap them and leave them at the reverend's doorstep for all the good it would do."

"You just need to give them time," Mary said, rearranging the stockings.

"I don't have the patience to give them time. For the love of pudding, they've been dancing around each other for months."

"Why do you care so much, anyway?" Emma turned to Frieta.

Her older sister shrugged uncomfortably. "Well—it's obvious, isn't it? I want Katie to be blissfully happy and apparently that chap's the fellow to do it. Or do you think there's some other man out there who stands a better chance with her?"

Emma shook her head. "I hope not. I like Tommy."

"Me too," Mary agreed, refolding a pair of white stockings, "he always so polite."

Frieta nodded. "Maybe he's too polite. I bet that's what the problem is! He's too chivalrous to make a move without asking first."

There were timid footsteps outside, and Jane soon arrived at the door. "Have any of you seen my shoes?"

"For the last time, we haven't seen your blinking shoes!" Frieta snapped.

Jane looked down at her feet, mumbling, "Oh, sorry."

Mary glared at her older sister. "Frieta, don't shout at her."

"Right. Sorry—Jane, why don't you go downstairs and ask Katie?"

"Okay." Jane turned and wandered out of the room.

* * *

During this exchange, Thomas had already completed his task and made his way downstairs. He could hear singing, and he smiled upon recognizing Catherine's voice. It was that Midlander's song he had heard her singing once before. Something about—what was it? Roses and melodies and… love. Yes, love was in there more than once.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the harmony of her voice with the words.

"Tommy, is that you?"

"Yes, I just finished putting that box upstairs for you." He entered the sitting room and saw that Catherine was dusting the shelves surrounding the fireplace.

"Did you happen to see what my sisters were doing up there?"

He came over to stand just behind her. "I did. Georgiana and the twins are cleaning their room and playing with their dollhouse at the same time. Emma and the older two are just sitting around. And one of them was cross with me."

She laughed. "Was it Frieta? She's been a bit grumpy with everyone lately. We're not entirely sure why."

"Indeed. And did you know that you still have my jacket?"

Catherine paused, remembering the jacket resting on the back of her chair. She continued dusting, responding carefully, "Well, you never asked for it back."

Thomas shook his head. "No, I didn't. Not that Mother would let me wear it anyway. It's all frayed and worn."

And it still smelled like him. Not that Catherine would admit to knowing that.

"What are you doing now?"

"Dusting. Although, as you can see, I've run into a problem." She stepped back, gesturing to the upper levels of the bookcases.

"You _are_ a bit short, aren't you?" he said, grinning.

"I could get a stepladder. Or I could just get you to help." Catherine brandished the feather duster at him, which he accepted with a rueful sigh.

"I should've never come here today."

"Forget about today—you should've never talked to me in the first place."

"Well, I didn't know that you'd be bold enough to give the prince of the country chores to do," he replied, approaching the bookcase and removing some of the objects from the top shelves so he could dust.

"Daddy was the one who started that. You were only respectful enough to follow through and actually wash the windows," Catherine said, sitting down on the couch to watch him.

"No, I was gullible enough. His back is fine, isn't it?"

"Daddy's strong enough he could push a cow over if he wanted. He just likes to pick on you—and George."

"Just on the men who come calling, then?" he asked, running the duster over the top shelf.

"Yes, I mean—well, he picks on everyone. Just this morning he was teasing me about you and—" her eyes widened, and she closed her mouth.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, it's just, um—do be careful. Don't knock over the picture."

"I'm being completely careful. See—lifting the picture, dusting underneath the pic—" he let out a cough as a cloud descended. "Inhaling the dust. Perfectly, ah—ah—achoo!"

It was an explosive sneeze. It was also extremely hilarious.

"Yes, the laughter is helping," Thomas said dryly, setting aside the feather duster and turning around.

Catherine covered her mouth with her hands. "I'm sorry, I just—oh you dear man. You've got dust all over you."

"I'm guessing those shelves haven't been cleaned since you first came here?" He glanced down at himself. "Balderdash, look at my clothes."

"Look at your hair, you mean. And it's in your beard."

"Brilliant." He attempted to rectify the problem, and only succeeded in making it worse.

Catherine stood up. "Come here, I'll help you get it out."

He obeyed and she reached up, ruffling the grey from his hair before starting to brush dust out of his whiskers. Her touch was gentle and it felt good to have her fingers running through his hair, even if it was perfunctorily done.

She smiled. "You know, if you didn't have hair on your face you wouldn't have such trouble."

"Well, I'm sorry, but it keeps my chin warm. And I still don't know if you like it so I'm not going to shave until you say otherwise."

"You're just waiting for my opinion?" she asked in amusement, combing the last of the dust out.

"Dear Cat, your opinion is the only one that matters," Thomas replied quietly.

Catherine stopped, her fingers still resting against the side of his face, looking up at him. An age seemed to pass as they gazed at each other, a hundred different messages exchanged in that one look. There were questions, emotions—plans, hopes, dreams—all of this colliding together in seconds. And unexpectedly, each knew where the other stood.

Thomas began to lean down slightly, his eyes closing as he neared her face. Slowly, ever so slowly, she started to rise up to meet him, her own eyes closing.

Catherine's heart started to beat rapidly in her chest. She felt him set his hand on her shoulder, and she shivered at his touch, shivered at his closeness. She was going to kiss him. She knew she was. She was going to kiss him and it would be amazing and magical and everything she had ever dreamed of and—

"Katie, I can't find my—oh! Sorry!"

They jerked away from each other, hands half-raised. For several seconds, Catherine just stared up at the man, a frantic buzzing in her mind. Then she turned away, calling, "Jane! Jane, wait!"

Thomas watched as she left, feeling an immense sense of disappointment. "Well, that could've turned out better."

* * *

Catherine managed to catch her sister halfway up the stairs.

"Jane, Jane, slow down. What's the matter?"

Jane shook her head, trying to wrest her arm from her sister's grasp. "No—I'm sorry, I only thought that—"

"What's the matter, dear?"

"I'm sorry, Katie. I really—I really didn't mean to—" she sounded tearful. Catherine released the girl's wrist, rubbing her shoulder soothingly.

"Jane, it's okay. You don't have to apologize. You did nothing wrong."

"But—but weren't you—" her lower lip was trembling.

"Was I what?"

"Weren't you—weren't you going to kiss him?"

The question hung in the quiet stairwell for a full five seconds. Catherine shook her head.

"What? No—no. Nothing like that. I—I was just helping him get some dust out of his beard, that's all."

Jane frowned. "Um, are you sure?"

"Yes, Jane dear."

"But I thought—"

She interrupted, "Jane, just tell me what you need. Please."

"I can't find my shoes…"

Catherine closed her eyes, straining against her own irritation. She took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, let's go up and look for them, dear."

They began to climb the remaining steps to the second floor. Catherine went into Jane's room, checking under the usual places. The space beneath the bed was clear, as was the gap between dresser and floorboards. Soon she had resorted to shifting through the closet, trying to keep her focus on finding the missing shoes.

This proved to be difficult, as all she could think about at the moment was what had almost just happened. She had been there, and Thomas had been there, and they had been very, very close. What did he think? What had _she_ been thinking? Had he noticed her hand stroking the side of his face? She hoped not. Oh, what was she going to say to him? Maybe if they just ignored everything…

While her sister was rummaging through the closet and her emotional state, Jane left for Frieta and Mary's room.

Mary noticed the little girl first, and quickly came over to her.

"Jane. Jane dear, what's wrong?" She put her arm around her sister.

Jane shook her head, rubbing at her eyes. "I—I ruined everything."

Frieta, who was now sitting at the vanity, frowned. "What on earth do you mean? Why are you blubbering?"

Mary narrowed her eyes. "Frieta, stop. Can't you see she's not well?"

"Jane, what happened?" Emma asked, coming to her other side.

"Katie—Katie was with Tommy and—"

"What did you do?" Frieta asked.

"I—I didn't mean to. I just, I wanted to know where my shoes were and I went in to ask her and—and," Jane looked up, her green eyes wide. "They were really, really close. I thought they were kissing or something and—"

"You interrupted them?" Frieta demanded.

"I—yes."

"Jane! How could you? For goodness sake that could have been my only chance!"

Emma looked at her. "What do you mean _your_ only chance?"

Frieta responded, "Hush, Emma. Jane, are you sure they were kissing?"

"No, I—I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"It's all right, Jane," Mary said, giving her a one-armed squeeze. "Frieta, don't talk to her like that."

"Come on, you know she just went and killed the moment."

"I—I didn't want—" Jane whispered.

"Oh, how could you, Jane?" Emma asked.

Mary sighed. "Emma, why are you—"

"What are you four talking about?" Catherine had come into the room. Instantly, all conversation stopped as her younger sisters looked at her. She certainly did not look happy. "You all should be cleaning! Emma, your bed is covered with clothes that need to go in your closet. And is that a chemise? Girls, act your age and clean up your rooms. Please."

Frieta cleared her throat. "Right—Emma, off you pop."

Emma scowled as she left the room. Frieta and Mary began to tidy up, with Mary doing the actual cleaning while her older sister kept an eye on Catherine and Jane by the door.

Catherine gave Jane a small pair of shoes. "Here they are, dear. Now next time, please, remember to look in the very back of your closet."

Jane failed to meet her eyes. "Sorry, Katie. I didn't—"

"Go and help Emma," Catherine ordered. Jane left without another word.

"Uh, everything all right, Katie?" Frieta asked, inching over to her sister.

"It's fine—just—I've got to finish things downstairs." Catherine departed for the hallway.

"Hope she means snogging his Highness," Frieta said, hanging up a dress in the wardrobe. "I can't believe Jane ruined that."

"It was an accident," Mary replied.

"I know, but still. Couldn't have picked a worse time to look for her clogs."

Catherine slowed down on the last three steps, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. For all she knew, she could be overreacting. After all, it's possible that Thomas did not think anything had been happening in the sitting room. She was just getting dust from his beard—that was all. The other stuff had just been flights of fancy not—not a definite plan of action. She had not _really_ wanted to kiss him.

Repeating this idea to herself, Catherine entered the sitting room to find Thomas still in the same position she had left him.

She coughed, murmuring, "I'm sorry. Jane couldn't find her shoes and—"

"No," Thomas said suddenly, moving towards her. "No, it's quite all right."

Catherine glanced to the side as he drew nearer, struggling to find something else to say.

The prince took out his pocket watch. "Erm, I should probably—"

"Be getting back?" she asked, looking up at him. "Of course. You have that trade meeting and—"

"Exactly. Um, how about we—"

"Saturday afternoon is open," Catherine said, immediately wishing she hadn't.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "So—Saturday? You could come up to the palace and we'll see the—"

"Yes."

"—Roses?"

She nodded.

"Right. Um," he smiled slightly. "Okay, then. Have a good day, Cat."

"Goodbye, Tommy."

"Right." He opened the front door and went outside.

Catherine waited until the door closed before heading towards the kitchen. She needed to bake something.

* * *

That evening, the royal family was relaxing after dinner in their chambers. The king was reading letters, the queen sketching in her notebook, and their son sat by the window and stared out at the night. All three sat in silence for a while until the king let out a gasp of feigned indignation.

"What is it this time?" the queen asked, penciling in the finer details of her husband's nose.

He shook his head. "You wouldn't believe what Alexander called me. Why, I can't believe it myself."

"What did he call you, dear?"

"A gynotikolobomassophile."

She smiled at him. "Now you're just making it up."

"No, that's actually what he called me. Haven't a clue what it means, though." He looked over at his son. "Thomas."

"Mmm?"

"Do you happen to know what a gynotikolobomassophile is?"

"A what?" Thomas looked at his father.

The king held up the letter, repeating, "A gynotikolobomassophile. It's what Alexander called me for trying to convince him not to arrest Lord Samuel. Honestly, I suspect he doesn't know what it means, either."

Thomas turned back to the window, but this time his mother called to him. "Tommy dear?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"When are you going to get your hair cut? It's getting far too long." The queen added in a few curved lines.

"Soon."

"Does Catherine like it that long?"

He made a noncommittal gesture with his hand. "I don't know—never asked."

His mother turned back to her husband. He shrugged, folding the duke's letter and placing it on the table at his elbow. Then the king rose to his feet, yawning. "I do believe it's time for bed. Caroline, are you planning on staying up any longer?"

"There's no point when my subject is leaving me." She closed her notebook.

The king's eyes brightened, and he strolled over to her. "Ah, am I your subject then? How delightful. Can I take a peek?"

"Not until I've finished."

"I bet I could convince you with a little—_persuasion_," the king purred into his wife's ear, which led to quite a lot of giggling.

At the window, Thomas let out a moan.

His father rolled his eyes. "Very well, Thomas, we will move our activities elsewhere. After all, a little privacy might actually do us some good."

"Will, stop it. I want to say goodnight to Tommy."

"Okay, but don't linger. I'm missing you already," he said, blowing her a kiss as he exited the room.

A moment later, the queen came over to her son.

"How are you, dear?" she asked, setting her hand on his shoulder.

"Good. I'm just—thinking."

"About Catherine?"

He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, muttering, "Always."

"Why don't you tell her how you feel?"

Thomas let out a huff. "It's not like I haven't tried. I'm just—I keep missing the moment, Mother. And I don't know how to get it right."

The queen nodded, suggesting, "Maybe you should talk to your cousin. He could help you."

"What would Freddy know?"

"More than you give him credit for, I'm sure. You might be surprised." She kissed the top of his head. "Goodnight. Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Mother."

He listened as her footsteps echoed in the hallway. Yes, he would ask Frederick if it weren't for the merciless teasing he knew would accompany the advice. But if his cousin's counsel rang true, the jokes would be worth it. He would just have to be very careful.

Almost as if on cue, Frederick entered the room a minute later. He plopped down on the sofa, groaning. "That is the last time I try taking on one of Lord Thingy's reports after dinner. Apparently Calscon is so fantastic that Livesley should take a few lessons. Well, the next time we go to one of his parties I've half a mind to dunk him in his own watery punch."

"Lord Clayton again?"

"Ruddy bounder doesn't know when to stop tooting his own horn. Now I know why Uncle Will is sick of him. So," Frederick said, selecting a cookie from the tin on the coffee table, "how was it over at Kitty-cat's house?"

Thomas stood up, rubbing his hands together. "Well, you know, I went over and talked, cleaned, oh, and wound up confessing my undying devotion and affection—"

Frederick started choking on his cookie.

"—to George."

He coughed. "Wait—wot?"

"I thought Cat was in the room and it turned out to be George instead. Once again, Freddy, I've failed at explaining myself to her. I keep missing and—I don't know what to do."

"Have her come here then."

"I did. I asked her to come Saturday—I'll write, tell her I'm sending a coach down," Thomas sat down on the sofa, rubbing his eyes.

"There you are then. Problem solved. Don't see why you're bothering me about it." Frederick got himself another cookie and started pouring a cup of tea.

Thomas gave him a furtive glance, watching as his cousin drained his cup and started his third cookie. The only thing he had to lose was his pride. Was it worth it though? He thought of Catherine's green eyes and shining brown hair. Of the freckles on her face and the way she laughed. Yes, it was worth it.

He cleared his throat. "Freddy, I—I realized something while I was down there."

Frederick poured himself more tea, humming.

Thomas continued, "Something about myself that never really mattered before. But—it does now. Uh—" he waited for his cousin to stop slurping his tea. "Freddy, can I ask you a question?"

"Wot?" He looked at him.

Thomas shook his head. "Never mind."

"No, no, wot is it?" Frederick asked, clapping him on the back. "Mate, you can ask me anything. I know you love the gal."

"Yes, but expressing that love is the hard part."

"No it's not. You've brought her flowers."

"I don't mean flowers," Thomas muttered.

"Wot, then?"

Thomas closed his eyes, sighing. "Freddy, how—how do you go about kissing a girl?"

There was silence. Then, "Excuse me?"

"I—I don't know how to kiss a girl."

A grin spread across his cousin's face. "That's right. I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"You're a virgin kisser." His smile grew wider.

"_Freddy_."

He held out his arms. "Wot's the matter? It's true."

Thomas got to his feet, waving his hands. "You know what, forget it. I should've never asked you."

"Mate, look—"

"I knew you were going to laugh. You always laugh at these things."

"Of course I'm going to laugh. Wot kind of man asks a question like that?"

His cousin groaned, stamping his feet in frustration. "I don't know. One who's concerned and wants to do it right. You know—proper and—and—"

"And you don't want to come off as a slobbering maniac," Frederick added with a smirk.

"A bit, yeah."

Frederick nodded. "Tell you wot, since you're my cousin and I care about you, I'll give you pointers. Number one rule, don't smash noses."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Yes, I gathered that."

"And make sure your teeth don't get in the way."

"I don't think I want your advice anymore." He turned around, preparing to leave the room, but Frederick popped up in front of him.

"And also, keep track of your hands 'cause sometimes they go places they're strictly not supposed to go."

Thomas glared at him, ears blazing red.

Frederick set his hands on the prince's shoulders, assuming a look of seriousness. "Look, wot you've got to do most, Goliath, is just relax. Maybe practice a bit if you're nervous. Guesses are it'd be her first time anyway so she probably won't notice if you mess up."

"Thank you, that's _very_ reassuring," he replied sarcastically.

"And I wasn't kidding about the practicing part. Here." Frederick took one of the pillows from the sofa and handed it to him. "Pretend this is your blessed, beautiful gal. Take her in your—ha ha—in your arms and express your—" he shook his head, sniggering, "love."

Thomas threw the pillow at him.

* * *

It was late Friday night, and Catherine was taking a bath. She had received a letter from Thomas describing tomorrow's itinerary. A coach was to come pick her up from her home around ten o'clock. She would ride up to the palace, meet Thomas at the door, and they were going to go walk through the gardens. Apparently, it was the last time the roses would bloom before autumn set in. It all sounded quite lovely and wonderful—or it would if she had not been spending every hour since Thomas's last visit in a state of panic.

She sighed, sliding down into the warm water until only her face was above the surface. She had mentally run through every detail of the incident in the sitting room at least a hundred times. Every run-through had resulted in a possible outcome, each one more disastrous than the last. And she still could not decide what she felt about the matter. Had she wanted to kiss him? What would have happened if she had? What would have changed?

Catherine thought about the past several weeks with Thomas. About everything he had done or said. They had grown closer; she knew that. And she knew she liked him a lot—cared about him, even. But now they were at this impassable stage where neither wanted to make a move. Both afraid of going too far and ruining everything they had already built. The waltz was at a standstill, and neither she nor Thomas seemed to know how to fix it. And it was misery.

She sat up in the tub, squeezing out her wet hair and inhaling the sweet scent of soap they had bought when the spice ships were at port. Tomorrow had so many possibilities, and she was nervous. What if something happened and they could not be friends anymore? What if something went terribly, dreadfully wrong? The thought of Thomas's absence from her life hurt an awful lot, but the idea of going on as they were—teetering at the edge and not making any commitment, felt much worse.

She looked at her pruney fingers.

Catherine sighed. "Great, not only am I panic-stricken, but I'm turning into a raisin. I've got to get out of here."

She got out of the tub and began to dry off, pulling the plug so the water would drain. A minute later, Catherine pulled on her bathrobe and took her candle, opening the door. She started down the hallway, but then saw a small figure sitting on the top stair. It was Jane.

She came nearer. "Jane, what are you doing up so late?"

Jane jumped, getting to her feet. "Katie, I'm—I'll go back to bed."

"Have you been crying?" She could see tear-tracks in the light of the candle.

Jane's face crumpled, and she dropped back down on the step. Catherine hurried over, putting her arm around her sister. "Jane dear—what's the matter? What's wrong?"

"I'm so—so s-sorry, Katie. I didn't mean to—honest."

"Didn't mean to what?" Catherine asked, surprised to find that the girl was shaking.

"I really—I really do like him." Jane hiccupped. "He's so nice. And—and he makes you h-happy."

She frowned. "Are you talking about Tommy?"

"Ye—yes."

"Jane, you're not still upset about—oh, you dear, beautiful girl. You sweet, gentle girl." Catherine hugged her sister close, rocking her back and forth until the sobs dwindled into sniffles. "Shhh, it's okay. You didn't ruin anything."

"But you and—you were so upset."

"Well, I was frustrated but it was not because of you."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes, dear, I'm perfectly sure. You did nothing wrong."

Jane let out another hiccup.

"I expect Frieta and Emma have been scolding you about it, haven't they?" Catherine asked. At Jane's nod, she continued, "Yes, I should've known. I'm sorry I wasn't paying enough attention to you. I haven't been a very good big sister lately."

"You're the best big sister," Jane protested.

"Oh, don't say that or you'll make all the other girls jealous." Catherine said, secretly pleased. She gave Jane another squeeze. "There. Better now?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Good. That's good." They sat there watching the shadows flicker on the wall. They could hear their father's snoring from down the hall, and Frieta and Mary talking in their room. Jane glanced up at her sister.

"Um, Katie?"

"Yes dear?"

"_Did_ you want to kiss him?"

Catherine bit her lip, staring down at her feet. For a second, she wavered on the truth. Then she admitted quietly, "Yes, Jane, I did."

"Oh. I thought you did."

Jane also privately thought that the prince had wanted to kiss her sister almost as much as her sister had wanted to kiss him. But since this was a private thought, she did not mention it. Instead, she hugged her sister again. "Goodnight, Katie."

Catherine smiled and returned the hug. "Goodnight."

Then, without another word, Jane headed to her room.

Catherine sighed and leaned back, gazing up at the dark ceiling and listening to the silence.

She did want to kiss him. Passionately and at great length. And, what was worse, she still wanted to.


	25. Rosebush

**Author Note**: Good news peoples! I'm a college graduate now! :D Awesome possum, eh? All thanks go to God and my family, friends, and professors and internship supervisors for getting me through the process-I most certainly couldn't have done it without them, or you guys for helping me know that writing is what I want to do. Now I just need to find a job now. Do you know of anyone who's hiring someone who writes? :D Haha, just kidding, but I would appreciate your prayers as I take on this new part of my life. Anyway, hope you guys greatly enjoy this chapter, as I've been planning it for a good long while now. It came out a bit differently, but no matter what I write it almost never turns out quite how I have it in my head. Oh well, such is the life :D Thank you all for your patience, for your reading and faving and reviewing and for your support! I appreciate all of you guys very much!

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Catherine did not fall asleep until a few hours before dawn. As a consequence, she failed to wake up at her usual time and instead slumbered on through the seventh, eighth, and ninth hours of the morning. She would have made it through the tenth hour had not Frieta opened her bedroom door.

"Of all the mornings for a blooming coach to—oh. Oh that's just pathetic."

Frieta crossed her arms, staring at the sight before her. Catherine was lying spread-eagled on the bed, her face pressed against her pillow with her mouth hanging open. There was certainly some snoring, even if it was just a low mumbling sound.

Frieta cleared her throat. "Katie, wake up! Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"Mhmmsnrghf." Catherine rolled over.

"Come on, you snorting beauty. There's a coach outside!"

Catherine's eyes snapped open. She sat bolt upright, staring at Frieta and wiping at the cold drool on her chin. "What?"

"It's been out there for at least fifteen minutes. Poor fellow's been waiting for you to—"

"Oh dear!" Catherine scrambled out of bed and raced past her sister to the hall. "Ohdearohdearohdear!"

The bathroom was locked, and Catherine pounded frantically on the door. "Who's in there? Open up—I need to get in there!"

"Katie? Is that you?"

"Open up!"

The door opened. Catherine reached in, grabbed someone's shoulder, and yanked whomever it was out with a shriek. She then slipped into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Mary pulled her towel closer about herself, her eyes wide as bubbles popped in her wet hair. She watched as Frieta let out a low whistle and walked over to her.

"I—I was taking a bath. Katie pulled me out of the bathroom," Mary said, stunned.

"Apparently she's late and a bit worried about it," Frieta replied.

"Did I hear you say something about a coach?"

"Palace coach. Been downstairs less than five minutes. Daddy's talking to the coachman." There was a squeal and thud from the bathroom, and Frieta smirked. "Sounds like Katie tripped on the rug."

"Katie?" Both girls turned around to see their father coming up the steps. "Katie, there's someone down waiting for—Mary? What on earth are you doing standing about in a towel?"

Mary shrugged helplessly. "Katie—she—she needed the loo."

Frieta nodded. "Turfed poor Mary out, to be honest."

Lord Brian's eyes narrowed in disapproval. "That doesn't sound like Katie. Excuse me." He knocked on the bathroom door. "Catherine, let Mary back in this instant. There's no reason why you should—"

The door flew open and a blur ran out, nearly knocking Lord Brian over. "Sorry! Sorry—got to run!"

Lord Brian glanced at his third and fourth eldest, completely baffled. "What is going on?"

"Don't know. But I'm wet so—" Mary returned to the bathroom and shut the door, locking it.

Frieta grinned. "I think Katie forgot to tell us that she's nipping up for a visit with the prince."

"Yes. I spoke with the coachman and he told me all about it. But why didn't Katie say something?"

"Too nervous, I suspect. Anyway, toodle-loo, Da." Frieta started to walk back to her bedroom.

Her father frowned. "Did you just call me 'Da'?"

"Da?" Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake, and she stammered, "No—no, I mean, Daddy! Sorry, misspoke—got to scoot."

Lord Brian watched as his daughter fled. What was wrong with everyone this morning?

* * *

In her room, Catherine was going through her closet at top speed. No, that dress was the wrong color—that one had frills she didn't like—that one much too long and that one far too short. But what did it matter what she wore? She tossed a few potentials onto her bed and picked up her brush, quickly running it through her haystack of hair. She was going to be late. She had slept in and she was going to be late and the coachman would get cranky and they would get stuck in traffic and Thomas—

She dropped her brush and knelt down to retrieve it. The new bruise on her thigh, which she had gotten by stumbling into the bathroom sink, had started to complain. As if it really mattered. Everything was going wrong anyway and she had not even made it downstairs yet.

Her eyes fell on the letter that had arrived yesterday morning. Thomas's handwriting marked the page with a confidence born out of years of writing to diplomats and noblemen. What would he be expecting? What would he say? There were so many questions she had and yet it seemed like she could ask none of them.

She returned to brushing her hair, surveying the possible dresses she had laid out on her bed. Perhaps the purple would be all right. It was a nice color, and it was modest. Didn't scream gorgeous diva or desperate nun but certainly had hints of 'why yes, I am a pretty girl' hidden within its seams. It would have to do, though, because her mother was calling for her from downstairs.

Catherine put down the brush and set about getting dressed, pulling on a fresh chemise and buttoning up the back of the dress. She studied herself in the vanity mirror, and her eyes narrowed. At least she looked all right even if she did not feel completely calm. But really, she should relax. She was just going to go to the palace and spend some time with Thomas, like always. Spend some time talking and walking through the royal gardens alone with the prince. Nothing to be nervous about.

She made a few minor adjustments before hurrying down the stairs. Her mother and father were waiting for her by the door, both looking concerned.

Catherine managed a smile. "Good morning."

"Hello, Katie," Lord Brian said, watching her put on her shoes.

"Why don't you have some toast before you go, dear?" Lady Marie asked, holding out a plate of buttered toast.

"Oh, I can't—I'm late and—"

"The driver said he was told to wait as long as you needed. I think you can afford a short breakfast." Lord Brian gave his daughter a stern look, and she took a piece of toast.

There was a pause as she ate her toast and avoided her father's eyes.

Lady Marie cleared her throat. "So, you're going to the palace today?"

Catherine nodded.

"Are you going to see Thomas?"

Catherine swallowed. "Yes. He—he wants to show me the gardens."

Lord Brian's eyebrows shot up above his spectacles and he gave his wife a sideways look. His wife ignored him and instead smiled at their daughter.

"All right then, dear. Have fun. Make sure you're back before Lizzie arrives. She said she would get here by two."

Her daughter frowned. "I thought it would be at least four before she got here."

"Best plan for three-thirty, knowing Lizzie," Lord Brian said.

Catherine grinned. "Three-thirty it is. See you later, Mother, Daddy."

They watched as the front door closed behind her.

Lord Brian shook his head. "They're going to go look at flowers."

"It would appear so, dear."

"I don't like it."

Lady Marie patted him on the shoulder. "You're her father, Brian. Of course you wouldn't like it."

"Do _you_ like it?" he asked, unable to prevent the accusation from his voice.

She smiled and began to walk back to the kitchen.

"Marie!"

* * *

"G'morning, Miss," the coachman said, hopping down to get the door for her.

"Hello," Catherine replied breathlessly. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."

"Not a' tall, Miss, not a' tall." He helped her into the coach and shut the door, whistling his way back to the driver's seat. A moment later they had set off.

Catherine leaned back against the soft upholstery of the seat and closed her eyes. The rhythm of hooves and wheels against the pavement began to calm her. She heard the talk of passersby and, five minutes later, the general hubbub of the marketplace. They were crossing Denning Square. In a few more seconds they would be taking a side street and then enter the main thoroughfare.

They slowed down at that point, and she opened her eyes to watch the carts, taxi coaches, and gentlemen's carriages rolling alongside them. Some of the wagons pulled off, drawing their wares to the various plazas in the capital. One carriage stopped at an attorney's office, and a haughty-looking woman got out. Five doors down, a taxi skidded to a stop, allowing a doctor to enter the residence of what appeared to be an expectant father. And then there were more stoppings and goings and they were more than halfway to the palace before Catherine remembered what she was doing.

Unfortunately, her nerves came back as well. Catherine took a deep breath and told herself over and over again that it was just a trip to visit Thomas. Just a simple outing with a very good friend. Just like all those other meetings and conversations and everything else. But had it ever really been that simple? These last few months—every week and every day she had spent with the man—seemed so much more complicated and important than any other time. And it wasn't just because she liked him. It would never be just that. It was because Thomas had slipped into her life so easily and quietly. As if there had been a place for him all along.

The carriage hit a rut in the street, jerking Catherine from her thoughts. They were nearly there now—going past all the higher lords' houses and the townhomes of some of the more prominent dukes and barons. And that great building over there was the University, with its halls and turrets. And then they turned a corner and there was the palace, its white sides gleaming in the brilliant sunlight.

It felt like three years had gone by since she, Elizabeth, and her mother had taken a taxi up to the palace for that matchmaking affair. She remembered looking over the top of her poetry book to see that same collection of tarnished copper roofs, tall towers, and rows upon rows of windows. Thomas was up there, now. She could only imagine what he was doing.

* * *

The prince made a face at himself in the mirror, checking his teeth for a fourth time as he tied the knot of another cravat. The carpet around his feet was littered with rejects, and his bed strewn with the vests he had tried on before settling with a handsome shade of blue. It didn't exactly match his eyes—it was darker and had a pattern of diamonds in the fabric—but overall it looked rather sharp.

He smiled at himself. Yes, that would do nicely.

"Freddy, what time is it?"

"'Bout ten-thirty," his cousin replied, looking up from the set of reports he was reviewing at Thomas's desk. Frederick grinned. "Went with the blue, did you?"

"It seemed appropriate," Thomas said, walking over to the desk.

"Well, you look smart, and that's wot matters. That and wot you're going to say, obviously."

"I know exactly what I'm going to say. I wrote it down." Thomas lifted the edge of the reports and withdrew a folded piece of paper, sticking it into his vest pocket.

"Just don't forget you have it in there, all right?"

"I won't. Now, do you have everything ready for the meeting?"

Frederick nodded, gesturing at the desk. "'Course I do. I've looked over these proposals at least twenty times and I have all your little irritating notes scribbled in the margins. The trade meeting will go along splendidly, particularly since you won't be there, and all the bigwigs will start chatting about that remarkably promising future duke of Livesley."

"And what will you tell my father when he asks where I am?"

"That you're off canoodling with the daughter of one of his lords."

Thomas glared at him, and Frederick laughed.

"Kidding—kidding. I'll tell Uncle Will you're feeling ill. Lovesick, to be precise."

"Will you be serious?" Thomas said, going over to his wardrobe and selecting a jacket. "This is an important meeting, after all."

Frederick raised his eyebrows. "A meeting so important that you're skipping it so you can woo Kitty-cat."

"Some things are more important than important meetings," Thomas muttered, straightening his sleeves.

Frederick pointed at him. "Too right you are. You just need to make sure you're successful. Wot with all this 'filling in' I've been doing for you lately. Half the work you turn in nowadays I've had more than a peep at."

"As soon as everything has been settled with Cat, I will do whatever you ask of me. I owe you that much, if not more."

"Just name your firstborn after me, eh?" Frederick said, grinning.

Thomas smirked. "Yeah, okay. We'll make it as a middle name so it can be for a girl as well as a boy."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"Slightly."

"'Course it is." Frederick sighed, turning back to his paperwork.

"Oh, don't feel bad, Freddy. One day maybe you'll have your own Frederick Hadrian IV." Thomas gave himself another once over in the mirror before starting for the door. But then his cousin called him.

"Hey, Goliath, one more thing before you go scooting along."

"Yes? What is it?"

"How did your pillow practice go?"

Thomas stiffened, his ears flashing crimson. "You heard?"

Frederick gathered up his papers, chuckling. "Ferdinand told everybody. You know, you should've locked your door."

"It was morning—I didn't expect anyone to come in."

"But?" Frederick looked up, watching his cousin.

Thomas rolled his eyes, admitting, "But I do feel a little more confident about the matter."

Frederick laughed. "Go on, Goliath. I'll catch up with you in a bit."

Thomas frowned. "You're not coming down there. You have a meeting I need to be at."

"I'm planning on nicking a biscuit or six from the kitchens before resigning myself to that conference for two hours. Think of it as a last meal." He got to his feet and walked over to join him at the door, folder of reports tucked under one arm.

"It's just a meeting, you know. It's not like I'm asking you to leap through flames," Thomas said.

"Oh ho, you'll be the one playing with fire today, Tom, not me. I wouldn't be caught dead in that garden."

Thomas shook his head, the first trace of unease appearing in his face. "I just hope this works. I'm worried because I want to get it right and get it right the first time around. I don't want to mess up and have to do it again."

Frederick patted him on the back. "You'll be fine. Now, get on down there and say hello to Kitty-cat."

* * *

Catherine was waiting down in the front hall. More accurately, she was pacing, while at the same time considering that a jump out of the nearest window wouldn't be too crazy of an idea. She'd easily escape, leaving only a Catherine-sized hole to indicate she had ever been there. Yes, that could be a good plan. After all, it wasn't like she really wanted to see the flowers anyway. The only reason she had come here was for Thomas and _he_ was also the reason she wanted to leave. Oh, this would be difficult.

Unbeknownst to her, Thomas had just reached the bottom steps of the staircase. He could see Catherine appreciating the view out of one of the windows, and a broad grin crossed his face. There she was. The woman he loved. The preoccupation of his thoughts and desires. He felt nervous—but it was the good kind of nervous built on excitement and happiness.

"Hello, Cat," Thomas said, his voice echoing off the ceiling as he approached.

She turned around, smiling hesitantly. "Good morning."

"I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"No, not long. I've only just arrived."

"Brilliant. And how is your family? All your sisters?" he asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

"They're fine. How are your parents?"

"Doing well, doing well. So, were you, ah," he came up beside her to gaze out the window, "admiring the day?"

She had actually been calculating the distance from the sill to the courtyard, but Catherine only shrugged.

Thomas nodded at the blue sky and ocean beyond the glass. "It is quite lovely outside. Sunny with just the slightest breeze, according to the almanac."

"You read the almanac?" Catherine asked, amusement momentarily replacing her apprehension.

He looked down at her, grinning. "Now I do."

A genuine smile crossed her face. For the first time that morning she felt warm and happy. Just to see him beaming at her this way made everything else disappear. In his eyes was a mixture of fondness and devotion and any number of wonderful things. She couldn't imagine not feeling that way when he looked at her—not sensing the strength of his affection when he was with her.

"Cat?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you ready to go to the gardens?" Thomas asked, his voice sounding puzzled.

She blinked, and then suddenly realized that he had probably asked this question once before and she had not answered. Immediately, her anxiety flooded back and she had to look somewhere other than his face.

"Yes—yes we should, um—go and see the—the, um—" she glanced to the side and spotted the unmistakable beaky nose of Frederick.

"Freddy!"

Thomas frowned. "Freddy?"

And then Catherine's feet were taking her towards the other man before she knew what they were doing. And she had grabbed Frederick's hand, words spilling out of her mouth.

"Freddy! Dear Freddy, how are you? I haven't seen you in ages!"

Frederick looked almost as surprised as his cousin felt. "Kitty-cat, why are you—aren't you supposed to be off smelling posies?"

"Yes, but oh, Freddy, you must come with us!" Why must he come with them? Why was she even saying that?

Frederick's eyes widened even more. "Wot?"

"I haven't seen you in far too long—we should catch up. Come on," she took the man's arm, "I bet you know all about the gardens."

The man coughed, casting a bewildered look at his cousin. He adjusted the folder of reports under his arm. "Um, Kitty-cat, I don't really—strolling through the flowers is more of a two-person sort of thing—"

"Nonsense. Tommy wants you to come with us, don't you Tommy?"

Thomas opened his mouth, intent on saying that no, he most certainly did not want Frederick to come with them, but Catherine had already started pulling his cousin towards the garden doors.

Thomas stood beside the window, his mouth still hanging open, quite perplexed about what had just taken place. He stared in the direction they had gone. A second later he was walking briskly after them.

* * *

The finest gardeners of Corona tended to every blade of grass, leaf, and flower that bloomed in the royal gardens. As a consequence, the plants and bushes were still doing well even with early autumn winds tickling stems and branches. There were colorful flowerbeds nestled here and there amongst the crafted topiary animals and neatly paved walkways. The sound of a running fountain filled the air, its musical water splashing within the harmonies of buzzing bees and twittering songbirds. The day was breezy, the sun bright, and the ever-present crash of ocean waves made the place seem almost like paradise.

Unfortunately, the gardens' occupants were not quite as relaxed as the atmosphere around them.

"Freddy, look at these little yellow ones!" Catherine called, pulling Frederick along to examine a patch of cheerful daises.

"Quite nice. Little wee plants…" He glanced over his shoulder at his cousin, almost positive there were two holes burned in the back of his head by a pair of glaring eyes.

"And over here—look at these! I've never seen such flowers." She steered him to a grouping of short bushes with spiky leaves and orange and purple blossoms.

Frederick let out a cough, muttering out of the side of his mouth, "Um, Kitty-cat, why am I here?"

Catherine paused in her examination of the bushes, her mind racing.

She honestly had no clue why she had grabbed the man and dragged him to the gardens. All she could remember was that she did not want to be alone with Thomas. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She _did_ want to be alone with Thomas—she was just afraid of what might happen if she was.

But she couldn't tell Frederick that. _He_ was Thomas's cousin, for goodness sake!

"Freddy, do you like petunias?"

"I'm actually more of a lilies' man to—" The remainder of his sentence flew back into his throat as Catherine yanked him further down the path.

Thomas, meanwhile, continued to walk after them, a frown on his face. He couldn't understand it. What was going on? And why on earth was Frederick here when he knew very well that he wanted to speak to Catherine alone? He tried thinking back to how her manner was in the front hall. She seemed relatively normal as far as he could tell. They had even been sharing that joke about the almanac when she abruptly left him to grab his cousin.

But he had thought, surely, that after a few minutes in the gardens he could get her attention again. He had tried accosting her at the sunflowers, but that failed to work. And then, five minutes later, his attempts at chatting about the servants' vegetable garden were completely ignored. Now they had been wandering around for nearly a quarter of an hour and still Catherine was avoiding any chance at eye contact or even exchanging a vague remark about the weather.

He watched as she fingered the edge of a petunia while Frederick kicked a clump of dirt at the corner of the bed. Thomas narrowed his eyes in determination and made his way over to them, pointedly coming up on Catherine's left side, away from his cousin.

He cleared his throat, immediately noticing that she jumped. "So, Cat, are you enjoying the flowers?"

"They're nice," she replied, moving ever so slightly away from him. "I'm a bit surprised at how many there still are even with the weather changing."

"We have good gardeners," Thomas said.

"I suppose you do."

"The roses are particularly beautiful. They're at their last bloom and, according to Lloyd, that's when they look the best." He tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn't look at him. He cleared his throat again. "Cat, I wanted to speak to you."

Catherine's heart beat faster. Oh no. Oh no, here it was—he had started talking and he was going to say something fantastic. He was going to break the tension. He was finally going to make a move and say his piece and get somewhere and she—what on earth was _she_ going to do? She would have no clue what to say. She would just stand there, gawping, and ruin everything and they could never be friends again and she would have to leave the country because she couldn't bear to be in the same country with him if she couldn't see him and it would all just be awful and—

"It's a bit of a—a personal matter," Thomas said, reaching into his vest pocket. "And I think—I _hope_ you understand why I wanted you to come—"

"We should get going!" she blurted, so loudly that doves roosting three bushes over took flight.

Thomas stopped, his hand halfway out of his pocket. "What?"

"We don't want to miss those famous roses, right?" Catherine asked brightly, quite certain she never felt more terrible.

"Yes, but—"

She interrupted, calling, "Freddy, come here, we need to go see the roses."

Frederick inched his way over. "Righto Kitty-cat, but are you sure we should—" he gulped, seeing the look on his cousin's face. "C-coming."

And they had gone again, Catherine quick-marching Frederick further down the lane. Thomas finished withdrawing his prepared speech and unfolded it, looking down at its contents. He crumpled it up in his fist, and felt his heart crumple with it. She had made her thoughts very clear. She didn't want to hear what he had to say. Perhaps what had occurred earlier this week had caused her to change her mind and she didn't know how to break it to him? Perhaps she no longer felt—or had ever felt quite what he had hoped. Perhaps he would do better to just get the reports from his cousin and go to that stupid meeting.

He continued along the path, glowering at the pavement. He found that Frederick and Catherine had stopped to look at the fountain. Moodily, Thomas picked a leaf from a potbellied topiary giraffe and began tearing it into pieces.

Over by the fountain, Catherine watched as water spurted out of the top. But of course, she wasn't really looking at the water. She was far too busy mentally smacking herself in the head. Oh, why hadn't she just let him talk? The poor man probably thought she hated him when it really was the exact opposite. The problem was she liked him _too_ much—but if he said something and she couldn't respond—or if she said the wrong thing after he said the right thing—especially since she had already messed this day up by making Frederick come along… What was she going to do? What could she do? She couldn't even speak to the man she was so afraid of spoiling everything!

Frederick watched her fret for a moment. He wanted to help, but he had a meeting he was supposed to be at and really the best way he could help at this point was to be far away from here. He began to sneak away and had made it out of the alcove when a hand landed on his shoulder and all thoughts of sneaking fled from his mind.

"What do you think you are doing?" Thomas asked through clenched teeth.

Frederick gingerly removed Thomas's hand from his shoulder. "Calm down, mate."

"Calm down? Freddy, she doesn't even want to talk to me! And it's all your fault!"

Frederick's eyes widened. "_My_ fault? How in the name of bally St. Anthony's left knee is it my fault?"

"Because it was supposed to be just Cat and me, alone—private. And—and then you had to go prancing out of the kitchen stuffing biscuits down your shirt!" Thomas turned away, rubbing his eyes in exasperation.

"Wot?"

"Look," he turned back around, holding out his hand. "Obviously this isn't going to work. Just give me the reports and I'll make up some excuse and get to the meeting."

Frederick hugged the papers tighter to his chest. "You're not going to the meeting—you're supposed to be courting the gal."

"Freddy, just give me the papers please. Cat doesn't want to talk to me anyway and the longer you're away from that meeting the more in trouble I'm going to be. Now give it."

"No."

Thomas glared at him. "Marquess—"

"Oh don't you dare pull rank on me, Tom! You know, I've had it with you." Frederick snapped his fingers. "I've been trying to get you and Kitty-cat together since the very start and if you're just going to give up now after everything I've done—"

Thomas snorted. "Done? What have you done but ruined every—"

"I've filled out your paperwork, I've gone to your boring lectures, I've sat through your meetings—I was going to go to the one today before Kitty-cat towed me here and I have half a mind to tell—"

"You're supposed to be in a meeting?"

Both men turned around, suddenly remembering that Catherine was within earshot.

"What?" Thomas asked.

"Eh?" Frederick clutched his reports.

"Are you supposed to be in a meeting right now?" Catherine asked, staring at Thomas.

He swallowed. "How—how long were you there?"

"Long enough to know that you're skipping out on a meeting." She looked angry now, not nervous at all, just plain angry. "Is that why you invited me here today? So you'd have an excuse to shirk work?"

"Who said—what do you—no!" Thomas shook his head. "No, I'd never do something like—"

"I can't believe you would actually do this, Tommy! You of all people!" Catherine turned her blazing green eyes at Frederick. "And you—you were going to let him?"

"I had absolutely nothing to do with any of wot's going on here," Frederick said.

Thomas reached out, trying to set a hand on her shoulder. "Look, Cat, it's not—it's not like that at all."

"Oh it isn't, is it? Then why did you ask me up here, hmm? Why did you even bother if you have work to do?" She folded her arms, shrugging off his hand.

"Well—I—I—" he glanced at his cousin, received a worried expression in return, and snapped, "What do you mean 'why'? You know very well why!"

"Enlighten me."

He groaned, frustration mounting. "For the record, this is not the first time I've skipped a meeting because there are some meetings that can be skipped. I have skipped out on loads of meetings for various reasons and the kingdom has not burned down yet. The meeting going on today is just a simple talk about business, nothing more, and there really is no reason why I should be there."

"You're the prince—you're not supposed to skip out on _any_ meetings."

"Well I skipped out on this one."

"Why?"

"Because I—" Thomas rolled his eyes. "Because I wanted to see you! Is that such a terrible thing?"

"If you wanted to see me you should've chosen a better time." She turned around and began to walk away.

"Cat? Wait—where are you going?"

"Back home. You're obviously too busy." She couldn't believe it. There she was expecting something and all he wanted was a reason to skip work! She refused to be part of his plan any longer.

Thomas gaped after her for a full ten seconds before striding over to head her off. "Now see here—I am not too busy. _You're_ the one who has been ignoring me completely since we've stepped foot in this garden."

Catherine looked to the side, knowing full well he was correct but not wanting to admit it.

"And furthermore," he continued, "you know exactly why I invited you here and it had nothing to do with any idiotic, blasted trade meeting!"

She glared up at him. "No, actually, I don't know why you invited me here. You haven't been clear at all and you've been dragging your feet and since you've already failed to mention your meeting how can I be sure that anything you say is actually true?"  
"What?" Thomas knew he missed something but he was too angry to try to figure it out.

"You know what, I'm not talking to you anymore."

"Oh, yes, since that's such a big change. You've barely said a word to me all morning."

"Well you—you've been cryptic!" she said.

"What does that even mean?"

"Oh, please, Tommy. You know exactly what I mean." Of course he didn't—_she_ didn't know what she meant. She was just exasperated.

"Now you're the one being cryptic!" he accused.

"I've been perfectly clear."

"No, not really. Honestly, you're just—just—"

"I'm just what?" Catherine asked.

Thomas shook his head, about twenty admiring adjectives jumping to his tongue before "silly" forced its way to the front.

"'_Silly_?'"

"I—I didn't mean—"

She turned around again. "I'm going home."

"You're not leaving."

"There's no reason for me to stay."

"There's every reason for you to stay!" he retorted.

"And there's every reason you should be up at that meeting!"

"For the last time, I'm not going to that meeting!"

They continued to shout, both wanting to shout at someone as well as be shouted at. Strangely, it felt good to get angry, to get frustrated and annoyed and to release emotions for a change. It felt good to argue with the one person who was causing so much confusion and happiness, so much fear and hope.

Frederick, who had largely been forgotten, watched in amazement. This was not how it was supposed to happen. For goodness sake, they were supposed to be kissing each other to oblivion by this point. What was all the yelling about? At this rate, the whole palace would hear and—

He frowned, suddenly able to discern voices separate from the yelling. Who was… oh sweet muffins.

Frederick coughed. "Um, excuse me."

They ignored him; too busy fussing at each other.

"Kitty-cat, I really think that—"

"Not now, Freddy." Catherine said impatiently.

"But Goliath, you might want to—"

"Go away, Freddy!"

"But—"

Catherine waved at him. "Leave us alone Freddy! His _Highness_ and I have a lot to discuss!"

Thomas's forehead wrinkled. "Oh, 'his _Highness'_ is it now? Maybe I should just start calling you _Miss_ _Catherine_ again."

"Don't you—"

"Oi! Lovebirds!"

"WHAT?" they demanded, turning to glare at Frederick.

"If you weren't so busy whispering sweet nothings, then you might notice Reverend Eccleston and that bossy housekeeper Madam Lillian are coming up the path!"

Catherine frowned, but Thomas let out a self-mocking laugh. "Of course, as if this day could go any worse! I'll be washing windows from now until Christmas."

Catherine's eyes widened. "Wait—that's that lady. That lady who—" she looked at him. "Tommy, we've got to get you out of here."

He shook his head. "What's the point? As soon as she finds out I'm not in the meeting she'll drag me back by my ear and—"

"Come—we need to hide." She took his hand and started forward, tugging him along much like she had done with Frederick.

"Cat, it's no use. There's nowhere to hide."

"Don't argue with me," Catherine said sharply. "You're not getting into trouble on my account."

"It wouldn't be on _your_ account."

Frederick glanced behind his shoulder. "Will you two stop bickering and hoof it already? The dragon will have me washing chamber pots if she catches us!"

"That was _one_ time, Freddy," Thomas said.

"It won't be the last if you don't start moving your big feet!"

So it was, prodded, pulled, and insulted, Thomas walked the remaining pathway to the rose section of the gardens. Most of the flowers had shriveled or fallen by now, but a few of the larger bushes were displaying at least a hundred or so red roses. Unfortunately, there was no longer any pathway here. They would have to either go through the thorns or simply return back the way they had come in order to leave the gardens.

Neither option seemed likely at this point.

"What are we going to do now?" Catherine asked, looking around for a way of escape.

"They're almost here," moaned Frederick as he looked again over his shoulder. "Three turns and I'll be scrubbing pots!"

Thomas folded his arms. "We can't do anything. We might as well just give up and—"

"We're not doing that," Catherine said.

"Why not? Why do you even care?"

"Because I do!"

Thomas started to reply when Frederick hissed, "Quick—the bushes!" and ducked into the bush to the left of the pathway.

Both Thomas and Catherine stared at the spot where the man had been a second earlier. Frederick was nowhere to be seen. Catherine started pulling Thomas towards another bush.

"What are you doing?"

"You've got to hide—this is the only option."

"I'm not jumping into a bush."

"Tommy, if you don't get in there you'll get in trouble and I'll feel terrible!"

"You should feel terrible anyway," Thomas said stubbornly. "You've ignored everything I've said and—"

"They're coming! Get in the bush!"

"No, I'm not going to—" Thomas tried to protest, but she had knocked him off balance and suddenly he was falling.

* * *

Due to the difference in size and overall body mass, Catherine basically had to tackle the man in order to get him to move. As he fell, he could feel branches snapping under his weight. Thorns dug into his arms and back and his head hit knots in the trunk before landing on fallen petals. But, when Thomas opened his eyes in the shade of the rosebush, the first thing he thought of did not have anything to do with flowers.

After all, the girl was lying _right_ on top of him.

"Cat, can you—"

She shook her head. "Shhh. Be quiet."

"But Cat, you're kind-of—"

"Shush, Tommy. Can't you see I'm trying to save your skin?"

And so they both lay there, hardly breathing as the footsteps of the approaching reverend and housekeeper grew nearer and nearer. Thomas tried to ignore how much he liked having her so close to him. He tried to pretend that her hands were not grasping his vest as she listened to the coming voices. He tried to convince himself that the increased thudding of his heart had to do with the imminent threat of Madam Lillian and not this amazing girl he had grown to love during the past several months. Finally, however, he gave up on these feeble lies and just stared at her in the sunlight lancing down through the rose leaves.

If there was something he got right today—just one thing he got right—he knew exactly what he wanted it to be.

"I think—I think they've gone," Catherine whispered, straining her ears for any sign of danger. Then she realized a hand was brushing her hair back from her face.

"Tommy, what are you—" she stopped. He was looking at her, his blue eyes intense.

Thomas sat up slightly, still gazing at her, his expression painfully tender. Without realizing she was doing it, Catherine slid one of her hands up his neck to tangle her fingers in his beard. She could feel his chest rising and lowering beneath her, and she moved closer even as he cupped the side of her face in his hand.

"You are a _beautiful_ woman, Cat."

She smiled, and then almost melted when he set his lips over hers and kissed her as though he never wanted to kiss anyone else for the rest of his life.

* * *

Frederick poked his head out from his bush, glancing around. He winced as he stood up, knowing for certain at least ten thorns had attached themselves to the back of his trousers.

"Blessed buns—that rotten housekeeper ruins everything."

He frowned. Where had his cousin and Catherine gone? They seemed to have vanished, which was odd because he had been fairly certain they were intent on quarreling till doomsday. There was rustling across the way, and he nodded. Aha.

"Okay, the coast is clear. You can come out now and finish your blasted argument."

There was no response from the rosebush.

Frederick narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. "Hello?" He pulled back a few branches, a slow smirk crossing his face. "Oh, _hello_."

Something hit him in the eye. This turned out to be one of Catherine's shoes.

"Ouch! Oh, come on!" He staggered backwards.

"Peek in here again and I'll throw the other one!"

"Fine!" Frederick retorted. "I'll just fetch the old reverend and have 'em officiate right now, then."

"We _could_."

"Oh, shut up, Tommy. Let's—let's just get out of this rosebush before someone else comes along."

Catherine emerged from the roses, blushing furiously and keeping her eyes averted. She took a deep breath. "I—I should get back home. Mother—Mother said to make it a short visit."

Frederick, holding his eye, nodded. "Too right you should—wot would your mum think if she knew you were—"

Catherine glared at him and he stopped speaking at once.

She cleared her throat. "Good day, both of you. Tommy, I'll—I'll see you later."

"Righto. I'm sure you'll see him and give him a royal snog or two—"

There was a loud whack as Frederick's stomach received the partner of the shoe that had struck his eye. Catherine chucked the shoe away and hurried off down the path, ignoring the man wheezing behind her.

Thomas came out from the bush a moment later. He was grinning, and his grin only widened when he saw his cousin sitting on the ground morosely nursing a new black eye.

"All right there, Freddy?"

"Oh shut up. Yes, we all know you've finally gone and kissed the gal of your dreams, so you can wipe that smirk off your mug, Goliath. Honestly, do you know she smacked me with her _other_ shoe?"

Thomas's grin faded. "Did she really?" He looked around, concerned. "Where did she go?"

"Who cares? I just got smacked about by a pair of women's shoes! I've got thorns in me trousers and I never even wanted to be down in this wretched garden in the first place and—"

"Freddy, I—I'm sorry but I have to go." Thomas started walking down the path. He had to find her. Balderdash, he had to make sure she was okay.

"Oi!"

He turned around, and was forced to catch the shoes his cousin was throwing at him. "What are these for?"

"They're your gal's. She shouldn't be running about barefoot."

"And she hit you with these?" Thomas frowned. The shoes seemed rather small.

"Yep," Frederick muttered, getting to his feet. "Make sure she feels bad about it after you're finished telling her how much you love her."

"Right." Thomas tucked the shoes under one arm and jogged down the path, leaving his cousin to his moaning.

* * *

Catherine stopped running at the fountain, sitting down on the edge to rub her sore feet. She couldn't quite understand what had just happened. There was Frederick complaining and she had hit him and—before that—before that a lot of things—feelings…

She shook her head, panting. It was all mixed together in confusion. Her hands were shaking and her mouth still tingled from his beard and—and he had had coffee that morning. She was sure of it. Black with only a dash of cream. No sugar. She would remember that.

Then his footsteps came before she was ready for them. "Cat? Cat, where—oh. There you are."

Catherine glanced up. He was standing awkwardly at the entrance of the alcove, holding her shoes and looking just as uncertain as she felt.

"You um," Thomas held out her shoes, "you dropped these."

"Thank you." She took them and began putting them on again. There were scratches on her hands, and she knew from the stinging on her cheek that thorns had cut her face.

She turned back to him, saw the scratches on his face, and said, "I am sorry about—"

"I'm sorry—"

They paused.

"You go ahead—"

"After you—"

They stopped again, smiling at each other.

"How about you go first?" Catherine suggested.

Thomas nodded. "All right. Um, first, Cat, I—I want to apologize. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you and I'm sorry if I upset you or—or crossed some boundary or," he shook his head. "What I mean is—I'm not unhappy I'm just—I'm unhappy if you are and if you don't want this we can forget it ever happened. I mean, I probably won't forget but we can go back—just be friends. I should've asked first before I—"

His hair was untidy. It had bits of grass in it and was sticking up at all angles. How had—wait—she remembered weaving her fingers through those soft, brown locks. Inhaling an intoxicatingly masculine scent of coffee and shaving soap and sweat. Kissing him over and over and over…

"Stop," Catherine interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry. Just, please say what you were saying again."

"Oh—well—" Thomas glanced at his boots. "I said we could just pretend this never happened. If you want. We can just be… friends."

She shook her head. "No, I don't want that."

"Right."

"If we're going to do this properly you should talk to my father and your mother and I need to talk to my mother and—and we'll get it worked out."

"You want me to talk to your father?" Thomas asked, his heart lifting.

Catherine nodded. "Yes, that's how George did it with Lizzie. Daddy will expect the same from you."

"But I thought—I thought you were upset. You ran away."

She smiled. "That was because of Freddy. You did nothing wrong."

"So you do want to—I mean, us—you want—"

"_Yes_. My word, Tommy, have you always been this dense?"

A grin crossed his face. "I've just been recently surprised, that's all."

Catherine laughed, wanting nothing more than to get up and kiss the dear man again. But no—she had to go home. Thomas had work to do and she had to help her mother get ready for her sister's arrival and what on earth were they going to tell everybody?

She sighed, standing up from the fountain's edge. "I should get going. Mother's waiting for me."

"Yes, quite right. And I'll come speak with your father tonight," Thomas said, backing up to let her leave the alcove.

"He goes to bed by eleven so make sure you've arrived before then."

"Okay."

They looked at each other, not knowing what to do next.

"Well—goodbye," Catherine said, waving slightly as she started to walk away.

"Cat?"

She turned around.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Thank you for coming today. I had a—a wonderful time."

Catherine smiled, taking in his battered appearance and recalling their ridiculous argument. "Me too. I'll see you tonight."

Thomas folded his fingers together behind his head, watching until she was out of sight. He let out a hoot of joy, beaming up at the gorgeous blue sky and relishing in the green life around him. How amazing. How wonderful. How absolutely, without a doubt, fantastic and utterly magnificent this day had been! How could he possibly go back to work now? How could he focus on anything now? He was flying, he was free, he was—

"Yowch!" he yelped, two firm fingers pinching his ear so hard he doubled over. A stern Madam Lillian had found her favorite handle.

"Gotcha, you spoiled layabout!" the head housekeeper said triumphantly.

"Madam Lillian, _please_—I'm twenty-two years old. Do you have to grab my—ow!"

"What do you think you're doing, strolling about the gardens making all kinds of racket? You're supposed to be in a meeting!" She began towing him forward.

"Please let go of my ear."

"Just caught your lazy cousin sneaking off," the housekeeper sniffed disapprovingly. "The reverend is marching him up to the infirmary to patch up a black eye. You weren't fighting were you?"

"No," Thomas rolled his eyes.

She yanked him along. "Come on, then. You've got a palace of windows just waiting for you. Scoundrels, the both of you! Skipping out when your father has to deal with all manner of intrigue and trouble! And what have you been doing?"

"Falling in love, you dragon!" Thomas barked, his patience snapped.

"Don't you get cheeky with me, young man!"

"_Ouch_! Not so tight, you're going to pull it right off!"

* * *

_Hope you guys enjoyed it! Also, if I have gotten anything wrong about gardening/roses/seasons in this chapter, I do apologize, and will only take refuge in 'plot reasons'! :D :D :D_


	26. The aftermath

**Author Note**: So, good news, I've got a job! Yay and praise God because without Him I wouldn't have got it! :) Bad news, I have no idea when I'll be able to write, especially now that I'm also working on some personal stuff other than fanfiction. I also apologize for the wait-life is so busy. It's always so busy, it's crazy. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long but I'm not sure about that-I'm always a perfectionist about these things-I want it to be as good as possible and that means rewrites and staring at the screen for ten minutes trying to figure out why one sentence doesn't fit. Anyway, just wanted to say thank you for all your reviews, your favorites, your follows, and your messages to check up on me. It's nice to know people are still reading. :D Hope you all have a good and safe Halloween!

P.S. Y'all should check out Universal Studios Orlando Harry Potter World-the family just went this past weekend and it was loads of fun! Lots of waiting but still fun! And everything costs a fortune so only get the stuff you're going to need and don't mind carrying around with you.

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

The palace coach pulled to a stop outside her house. Catherine looked out the window, hoping that she had gotten all the twigs out of her hair and that the scratches on her face had faded by now. She took a deep breath as the coachman's boots clapped against the pavement outside. Then he opened the door for her and helped her out.

The coachman bowed. "Pleasure serving you, Miss Catherine. Let me know if you're in need of anything else."

"Thank you very much," Catherine replied as the coachman rose from his bow.

"Yes ma'am." He turned and closed the door as Catherine began to make her way through the gate and into the front yard.

She was back earlier than she had said. Her parents would probably ask why, and her sisters would ask after Thomas. Simply answered, she had finished her business at the palace, and Thomas was amazing. But that wouldn't be enough. They would want to know _everything_. Every detail about what had occurred during her visit with the prince.

Catherine paused at the front door, making minute adjustments to her dress and closing her eyes. Then she reached for the handle, only to have the door thrown open and be enveloped in a sudden hug.

It was a moment before she recognized the arms and build of her older sister.

"Lizzie! What—what are you doing here already?" she asked.

"I came early. I wanted to surprise everyone but then _you_," Elizabeth pulled away, "decided to go to see Tommy instead of wait for me. I'd never forgive you if I didn't miss you so much."

Catherine laughed, her sister taking her by the arm and leading her into the house.

"We're all planning on going out to lunch at that café at the wharf, but Daddy said you weren't supposed to be back until later."

"I wasn't but—" she faltered, unsure of what to say.

"But what?" Elizabeth asked.

"But Tommy had a lot of work to do so we had to—we had to cut the visit short."

"Oh." Elizabeth frowned. "And how is Tommy?"

"He's well," Catherine answered.

"Does he still have that ridiculous beard on his face?"

Catherine smiled. "Yes he does."

Elizabeth tsked, shaking her head as she led her into the sitting room. "Pity. He'd look a sight better if he shaved it off."

"Somehow I don't think he would."

"Well, you were always weird about facial hair. Remember those two weeks Mother was off visiting relatives and Daddy grew out his beard? You were the only one who pouted when Mother made him shave it off."

"Mary pouted too," Catherine pointed out, taking a seat next to her sister on the sofa.

Elizabeth waved her hand. "_Please_, Mary was almost three years old—she pouted about everything."

"Well she'd definitely pout if Tommy shaved off his beard. Everyone would." Catherine smiled.

Elizabeth snorted, and then her eyes narrowed. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Catherine asked, immediately defensive.

"Your face."

"What?"

"You're smiling," Elizabeth said, as if that answered everything.

Catherine shrugged. "So what? Why shouldn't I be smiling?"

Her sister shook her head, pointing at her. "No. That smile—_that_ smile says something. What happened at the palace today?"

"Um, uh—at the palace," Catherine said, her mind filling with memories of roses and kissing, "we—nothing. Nothing happened."

"Oh you are such a horrible liar! Katie, what happened today?"

Catherine cleared her throat, forcing herself to think straight. "Just stuff, you know. We walked around the garden a bit and then Tommy had to go to work. That's all."

"Did you talk about anything?"

"Well, yes."

"What did you talk about?"

Catherine folded her arms. "None of your business."

"You're my baby sister, of course it's my business," Elizabeth replied.

"Well not today it isn't."

Elizabeth continued to watch her for a long while before saying, "Fine. Have it your way."

"Thank you." Catherine smirked at her win, and then frowned. "Wait—where's everybody else?"

"Mother's upstairs with the girls and is probably having a time of it getting them ready to go out for lunch."

"Lizzie, why didn't you tell me that earlier? We should be helping them," Catherine stood, suddenly hearing the commotion above her.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "Well, I never get to see you and it's been ages since we've had a long chat. Speaking of which, I have something I want to—Katie?"

But Catherine was already heading back out into the hallway, intent on going upstairs to both help her mother and escape further questioning.

Elizabeth put her hand to her belly—something she was doing a lot more often now—and frowned. "Looks like your Aunt Katie is hiding something, dear. We'd better find out what."

* * *

"O, my love's like a red, red rose that's newly sprung in Juuunnneee… O my love's like the harmony that's sweetly play'd in tuuunnnneee!"

The prince was singing. Terribly off-key and quite possibly with the wrong words, but he was indeed singing. Bellowing out verse after verse, he continued scrubbing the windows of the banquet hall. The words bounced off the ceiling and walls, echoing about the empty room. Outside the windows, the sun was slipping down beneath the horizon, its fading orange light reflecting on the dance floor.

Not that Thomas noticed much. He was too busy singing and washing windows to attend to anything else.

"As fair thou art, my darlin' lass—so deeep in love am Iiii! And I will love thee still my dear, till a' the seas are dryyy!" He plunged his washcloth down into the water and climbed up the stepladder to get to higher panes.

Thomas took a deep breath, launching into another verse, "Till all the seas are dry my deeeaaar!"

The doors at the far end of the banquet hall burst open and the king came striding in, fingers in his ears. He looked more than a little upset as he marched over to where his son was still singing.

"Thomas!" he barked, glaring up at him.

"And I will love you still my deee—"

"Cork it!" the king shouted, ending with a loud whistle that nearly made his son topple off the stepladder in surprise.

"Father? What's the matter?" Thomas asked, glancing down at the king.

His father removed his fingers from his ears and straightened, assuming his most dignified expression. "I want to talk to you. And you're deafening the entire palace, so stop singing."

Thomas came down from the ladder, slapping his washcloth down into the bucket so that suds spilled out onto the floor. He began stretching out his arms, smiling broadly. "All right, what is it?"

"First, what are you doing?"

"Madam Lillian has me washing all the windows in the palace—"

"No, not that. Why were you singing?"

Thomas shrugged. "I'm happy."

The king cocked his head. "Happy? Well that's nice because I'm not happy. You missed a meeting today and we need to talk—"

"Can't this wait? There are several windows left and I need to be at Cat's house by—" he glanced out the window. "Balderdash, the sunset's almost over now."

"Enough with the sunset. Thomas, I am very disappointed in you. I told you repeatedly how important that meeting was and you failed to show up. Instead you spent the morning in the gardens goofing off with your cousin. Honestly, do you even want to be prince?"

He looked out the window again. "It's not a matter of _want_, Father, it's more that I already _am_. And it was just one meeting."

"No, it wasn't. It was very important and you missed a lot of information which—"

The doors opened at the other end of the hall, and this time the queen entered.

"Will, have you found—ah." She came over, nodding at her husband. "Tommy, your father wanted to speak to you."

"He's doing it right now," Thomas said.

His mother frowned. "Dear, what on earth happened to your face? You've got scratches all over."

"Not now, Caroline—I'm still speaking to Thomas."

"I can ask him if he's all right—"

"Caroline, no."

The queen stared at her husband. He never interrupted her.

"Darling, is everything okay?" the queen asked, concerned.

"No, it's not. Thomas," he turned to his son, "there are things you need to know about that meeting."

"Okay. But I can catch up later with the paperwork. You don't have to remind me."

"It's not just the paperwork, Thomas. It's something far more serious than that. Certain information came to light. And decisions were made—plans settled." He shook his head, muttering, "Things that can't really be undone."

The king continued speaking, but Thomas only heard words like 'duty' and 'responsibility' and 'important.' The sun had disappeared by now.

"Father, I'm sorry, but I really have to go." He started to leave.

"Go where? Do you even hear what I'm saying?" his father demanded.

"Tommy, come back here."

He turned back, halfway to the door. "I can't—I need to go talk to Cat's father and it's getting late."

"What? Catherine?" the queen asked.

Her son grinned. "Yes. I'm going to ask Lord Brian if I can court her."

The king frowned. "Now wait just a—"

"When did this happen?" his wife interrupted.

"Today. We exchanged," Thomas glanced to the side, "um, words. She wants me to talk to him."

His mother opened her mouth. "But—"

"Yes, he's going to talk to her father, woo Catherine, get married—whatever. Thomas, get back here right—he's gone. Of course he is." The king sighed and took a seat on the lower rung of the stepladder.

"This is serious, William. He's actually—I can hardly believe it—he's actually going to court her. This is wonderful!"

The king rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes. Quite wonderful. At least until I throw a wrench into his plans."

His wife frowned. "Will, what's wrong? What happened today?"

"At the meeting I—erm, I received a report. Thomas wasn't there to corroborate, and I was backed into a corner so I—I made an executive decision."

She sat next to him. "What kind of decision?"

"You're not going to like it. He's definitely not going to like it."

His wife took his hand, her blue eyes anxious.

* * *

An hour or so later, Thomas was preparing to leave for Lord Brian's house. He had eaten a quick dinner, brushed his teeth, taken a bath, combed his hair, and was picking out his clothes when his cousin entered his bedroom.

"Hello Freddy," Thomas said distractedly, pulling on a shirt.

"Oh, noticed me did you? Actually care about my existence now?" Frederick plopped onto the couch and slumped down, face-first, into the cushions.

"What are you so grumpy about?" Thomas asked as he buttoned his shirt.

Frederick lifted his face up. "Your girlfriend knocked me in the eye this morning, if you don't remember. And now I've got a shiner and my buttocks will never be the same since I sat in that thorn bush."

"At least you didn't have to wash all the windows of the palace."

"No, I was just stuck in the infirmary, listening to the old reverend blather on about his boyhood days while my fanny got bandaged. Clearly you've had it far worse."

"I'm sorry, all right? And jumping into that rosebush was your idea in the first place so you can't blame me for that."

"I suppose not," Frederick sighed, and then noticed his cousin was trying on variety of cravats. "Wot are you getting all spiffy for anyway?"

"I'm going over to Cat's house. I'm going to ask her father if I can court her."

"Are you going to tell him wot happened today?"

"Of course not," Thomas said, pulling off a blue cravat.

"Good, because you were getting a bit handsy under those flowers," his cousin muttered.

"No I wasn't!" Thomas snapped, his ears red.

Frederick smiled cheekliy despite his black eye. "Righto. Big fat fib that was."

Thomas huffed uncomfortably. "Look, if anything, Cat was—" he hissed, suddenly realizing he should probably stop talking.

"Go on then. Kitty-cat was wot?"

Thomas rubbed his beard. "She—well, I kissed her first and she—she wanted to continue so we did. Kissing, that is."

His cousin laughed. "You're joking. _Kitty-cat_ was the one who—and here I thought you were the eager one."

"Well, I did kiss her back. It wasn't all her."

"Still, that's pretty good for your first time out."

"Yes, perhaps it is." Thomas smiled, feeling slightly proud of himself.

Frederick nodded thoughtfully. "I should congratulate her, getting the best of you like that."

"She didn't get the best of me."

"_Sure_ she didn't. Trust me, the gals in that family are—ahem," Frederick coughed, shaking his head. "Pardon. No clue wot I was about to say."

"What do you mean? What about Cat's family?" the prince asked.

"Wot?"

"What you just said there."

His cousin shrugged. "I don't know—they're Midlanders aren't they? Rebel stock?"

"Half-Midlander," Thomas corrected. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Can't quite say. So, you're asking her da, eh? Think he'll say yes?"

Thomas sighed, buttoning up his vest. "I hope so. To be honest, I have no idea what I'm going to say to him." He frowned at his reflection in the mirror.

"'I love your daughter,' 'Kitty-cat's very nice,' 'brilliant kisser'—that sort of thing."

Thomas shook his head. "You can't just launch into something like that, Freddy. You have to have reasons, proof, evidence that you really care about—"

"Goliath, a blind duck could tell you two love each other. I don't think Lord Brian missed it," Frederick said.

His cousin smiled doubtfully. "Well, _I_ love Cat, at least. I can only hope she loves me back."

"You've got plenty of hope, judging from wot I saw today."

"Maybe. Anyway," he grabbed his jacket and swung it onto his shoulders, "I'll probably be getting down there late already so I'd better start off now. Take care of yourself, Freddy."

"You owe me big, Goliath," Frederick called.

"I know I do. See you when I get back."

* * *

It was night, and Catherine was in the sitting room, perched on a chair at the window and gazing out into the darkness. He still had not come yet. Dinner was over, dessert finished, dishes done, and now her father had retreated to his office and her mother, Elizabeth and Frieta were upstairs helping get the girls ready for bed. And still, Thomas had yet to make an appearance.

She sighed, staring out the window while behind her, Mary hummed and stoked the fire. It was getting colder as autmn set in, and soon they would have to take turns getting up each night to keep the fire going.

Mary straightened from where she knelt by the hearth, yawning. "Katie, can you make sure the fire has enough fuel beside it? There's extra wood in the kitchen but I'm so tired…"

"All right," Catherine said.

"It's just been," Mary yawned again, "such an exciting day what with you running crazy this morning and then Lizzie coming over."

"Very exciting, yes."

"Goodnight, Katie." Mary patted her on the shoulder and headed upstairs.

Catherine waited five more minutes before going to fetch logs from the kitchen. She came back and set them down in the bin next to the fireplace, watching the flames twist and dance.

Perhaps Thomas had been too busy to come today. He did, after all, miss a meeting. No doubt he had a lot of work to catch up on and she wouldn't be surprised if his father had been angry with him for shirking. But all the same, it was close to ten at night. Where was he? Was he purposely staying away? Had she scared him off?

Her eyes widened, and Catherine sat down in one of the armchairs. That was a possibility she had tried not to think about but now… Admittedly she had been a bit enthusiastic in that rosebush. More than a bit, actually. But for goodness sake, the man she had been waiting on had finally kissed her so of course she was enthusiastic!

And at any rate, he had seemed so pleased, so happy. No, that couldn't have been it. No, he was just tied up with work that was all. And it did not really matter. Her father was not expecting him—no one was. She had not told anyone what had happened yet, despite her older sister's questions. No one knew she had kissed the prince. No one knew that she had liked it and wanted to do it again.

"Katie, are you coming to bed or not?"

Catherine turned to see Elizabeth standing in the sitting room doorway. She had already changed into her nightgown and had her arms crossed.

Catherine stood up, frowning. "I don't recognize that nightgown."

Her sister beamed. "George bought it for me. Do you like it?"

"I don't know, but he probably does." She nodded at the lacy neckline and shortness of the hem. "Don't you get cold in that thing?"

"Yes, but I forgot my bathrobe upstairs. Are you coming?"

Catherine glanced out the window once more before walking over to join her sister.

Elizabeth looked at the window, remarking, "You can stay if you're expecting someone. Perhaps someone _royal_ with broad shoulders that could lift an ox?"

Her sister grinned slightly. "Maybe, but it's still none of your business."

"Katie, what's going on?"

"Nothing. And I'm going to bed," Catherine said, making her way to the stairs.

Elizabeth came up behind her. "I'll follow you up there. Remember, we're sharing your room tonight."

"Yes, I know. I saw how your bag exploded all over my room when I went up there earlier."

"I'm just settling in," Elizabeth said.

"It's almost as if you never left. You're always so messy."

"George doesn't mind."

"George doesn't count," Catherine responded.

* * *

Several minutes later, Thomas knocked at the door of Lord Brian's house. He shivered, waiting. The ground floor windows were mostly dark, but there were some upstairs windows lit with the glow of candlelight. It was possible he still had a chance.

Thomas rapped his knuckles against the wood once more, glancing behind him. Maximillian was tied at the gate, and had actually leaned over to snatch a few apples from the trees in the front of the yard.

"Maximillian!" Thomas hissed. "Stop that!"

The horse ignored him and continued munching happily.

Thomas groaned and was just about to go over to his horse when the door opened behind him. He turned and saw, to his surprise, that it was Jane. She was wearing a nightdress and had a book in her hand, evidently intent on getting in some reading before bed. She looked as surprised as he was.

"Tommy?"

Thomas smiled. "Yes, hello, Jane. Good evening."

There was an awkward pause filled with Maximillian's audible chewing.

Jane gestured inside. "Do you want to come in? It's cold out there."

"I hadn't noticed," Thomas lied, entering the house. It was very dark. The fireplace was lit but surely everyone had gone to bed by now.

"Um, Jane, is your father still awake?"

She nodded. "Mmmhm, but Katie's upstairs if you want me—"

"No, no thank you. I just want to see your father," he said.

Jane pointed towards the back of the house. "He's in his office, I think."

"Right. I'll just—I'll go over and talk to him, then." Thomas stood still, swallowing.

"Are you all right?" The girl asked, peering up at him.

"Bit nervous, that's all. Um, how do I look?"

Jane grinned. "Nice. I like your vest."

Thomas gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you. Well, here I go." He lifted his foot and began marching down the hallway, certain that if he slowed for a second he would freeze in place.

His heart was pounding when he reached the door of Lord Brian's office. The door was ajar, light spilling into the hallway from the crack. He could hear shifting papers, and a cough told him immediately that the milk lord was at his desk.

Thomas inhaled and, before he could think about it, knocked.

"Marie dear, I'm coming to bed in a minute. If you want to come scold me, I don't see why you bother being polite about it."

The prince pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Lord Brian looked up from his desk, eyebrows rising.

"Thomas? I thought you were my wife."

He nodded. "Um, I'm not."

Lord Brian smiled. "Yes, I can see that. Although, I must say, I never expected to see you here this late."

"I'm sorry. Should I come back later?"

"No, no. You came here for a reason so just tell me."

Thomas nodded and coughed. "Well I have a—a proposition, sir."

"Proposition? Is this about those land grants your father brought up last week? Royal business never stops, does it?"

"No sir. And, actually, it isn't royal business—it's personal. And I came not on behalf of my father, but on my own."

"Ah, this should be interesting. Take a seat." He indicated the one chair in front of his desk, but Thomas shook his head.

"I'd rather not, sir."

Lord Brian shrugged. "Okay. Then have at it. What is your proposition?"

Thomas cleared his throat. "Lord Brian."

The man adjusted his glasses.

"Lord—Lord Brian."

He nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"Lord Brian, I would—um—Lord Brian, Lor—"

"Thomas, if you say my name one more time I will say 'no' to _whatever_ you ask me. Now," he leaned forward in his seat, his eyeglasses glinting in the candle light, "tell me what you want, dear boy."

He cleared his throat again, and asked quietly, "May I court Catherine?"

"Catherine?"

"Yes sir."

"Katie?"

He nodded. "Yes, Lord Brian—your second eldest."

Lord Brian inclined his head. "I know which one she is, Thomas. You don't have to remind me."

His eyes widened, and he hastily looked down, mumbling, "Sorry sir."

"No, that's all right." Lord Brian sat back in his chair, considering the extremely nervous young man standing before him. "That's quite all right."

Thomas glanced up hesitantly. "Sir?"

There was a small smile on the man's face as he continued to gaze at the prince.

Then Lord Brian spoke. "As you know, Katie is a wonderful young woman. She is intelligent, kind, beautiful—though I daresay you've noticed _that_ particular aspect."

Thomas nodded uncomfortably.

"As wonderful as she is, she is also the type of person who needs stability in her life. Someone she can count on—someone she trusts completely—someone she knows would never break her heart." Lord Brian's expression was serious now, all traces of amusement gone. "You've heard of Joseph, haven't you? Everything that went on there?"

"Yes sir. Cat—she told me about it." Just the very thought made his fists clench.

Lord Brian sighed. "Ever since her relationship terminated with that man, Katie has built a barrier around herself. It was done out of protection and, honestly, I don't blame her. In fact, I rather approve of it. But since she's met you, that barrier has started to weaken. Slowly—granted—but weaken all the same. She trusts you. She has allowed herself to rely on you. That is very important, Thomas."

He closed his eyes. "I know it is."

"I need you to tell me that her trust is not misplaced. That you would never consciously hurt her in any way. That you are serious about this relationship."

"I don't really think I'm capable of hurting her."

"Are you certain?"

"No." Thomas looked up.

The milk lord cocked his head. "No?"

"Lord Brian, I'm a man and I make mistakes. I lie, I break promises, I—I am selfish. I won't pretend that I'm not. But I do want to be better for her."

"Not because she deserves it, surely?" Lord Brian asked.

The question took Thomas aback. Of course Catherine deserved it. She was brilliant and amazing and the best possible person there was. She would always deserve his best. What on earth could her father be playing at?

"Thomas, Katie is very kind and sweet but she is not perfect. She has her faults just like you have yours. Sometimes it may be difficult for you to be better for her because _she_ will not always try to be better for you. You must understand that."

"Yes sir."

"Do you understand that?" Lord Brian asked.

"I do."

"And you do care for her?"

Thomas bowed his head. "So very much, Lord Brian."

The milk lord nodded, folding his hands together. "Very well, you may court my daughter on one condition."

"Yes sir?"

"You have to promise to marry her by the end of it."

Thomas stared at him.

* * *

"Why won't you tell me what happened at the palace?" Elizabeth moaned, lying on the bed and looking at her sister upside down.

Catherine shook her head, brushing her hair in front of the vanity. "I'm not telling, so stop asking."

"But you've been acting so strange today. I just want to make sure you're all right."

"You're just being nosy as usual."

"I'm not being nosy. If I was nosy," Elizabeth sat up and opened a trunk in the corner, "I'd be rummaging through your things."

"At least you haven't gone that far."

"Yep," Elizabeth replied, pulling out a bundle of dark material. She immediately saw that it was a man's jacket, and a fine one too save for a bit of fraying near the collar. A golden sun was embroidered into the inside part of the coat, and Elizabeth grinned, running her fingers over the thread. "Katie, whose jacket is this?"

Catherine turned around, her eyes widening. "Give that to me."

"It's his, isn't it? It even smells expensive." She sniffed it, and frowned. "Actually it smells like you—have you been wearing it?"

"Lizzie, stop it, okay? Just stop," Catherine stood up and started around the bed.

Elizabeth held the jacket closer. "I can't stop because something's wrong and you won't tell me what it is. And now you have his jacket here? That means something, Katie!"

"No, it doesn't, and nothing's wrong! I'm fine! Everything's fine—" she snatched the coat away, "Peachy, perfect—leave me alone!"

Her older sister watched as Catherine went back over to the vanity and sat down to furiously brush her hair again. Elizabeth stood, grabbing her bathrobe and wrapping it about herself.

"All right then. I'll just go downstairs and get a muffin while you stay up here, not telling anyone what's going on even though you _know_ you want to tell me."

"Enjoy your muffin, Lizzie," Catherine said, not turning around.

"Ugh!" Throwing up her hands, Elizabeth marched over to the door and jerked it open, heading downstairs.

* * *

"Enjoy your muffin. Honestly, I'm the one who should be having mood swings and shouting and what have you. I wonder if any of those chocolate chip muffins are still down there. I could really use some chocolate right now."

Elizabeth set her hand on the railing and had almost made it downstairs when a dark form crossed her path. She jumped, startling the man who was reaching for the front door.

"What—" she peered through the darkness and caught some of his face in the firelight from the sitting room. "Tommy? Is that you?"

"Good evening, Lizzie," Thomas said, bowing slightly.

"You gave me such a fright. What are you—" Elizabeth tugged the neck of her robe a little closer. "What are you doing here?" She appraised him, adding with some surprise, "You look nice."

"I just had some business to discuss with your father."

Elizabeth's green eyes narrowed. "At this time of night?"

"It—it couldn't wait," he said.

"Ah. Pressing business. George has that sometimes."

"Yes."

About fifteen seconds passed in which Elizabeth tried to read the prince's face and he tried his hardest not to catch her eye.

Finally, Thomas asked, "I believe congratulations are in order? It's good to know there will be an heir to the house of Dean before too long."

Elizabeth looked astonished. "Wha—how did you know?"

"Your husband told me," he answered, smiling.

She frowned. "George, of course. And I told him to not tell—"

"Anyone in the family. Since I'm not family, I don't count," he said quietly.

"No, you do count and—you didn't tell Katie, did you?" Elizabeth asked, apprehensive.

"She doesn't know."

Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness."

Thomas glanced back at the door. "Yes. Listen, I need to get back home so, goodnight, Lizzie."

She smiled. "Goodnight. See you soon, hopefully?"

He nodded and left the house. Elizabeth locked the door and raced up to her sister's bedroom.

"Did you enjoy your muffin?" Catherine asked as soon as the door closed behind her sister.

"What is the prince doing here?" Elizabeth demanded.

Catherine jumped up. "What? He came tonight?"

"You knew he was coming—wait, where do you think you're going?"

"To see Tommy! I need to—" Elizabeth blocked her pathway to the door.

"He just left. He's probably out of the neighborhood by now."

Catherine tried to dodge around her. "What did he come for?"

"He wanted to talk to Daddy and—and he looked nice and—oh no you don't!" Elizabeth set her hands on the doorpost, trying to keep her from reaching the handle.

"Lizzie, move! I need to see Daddy, I need to—"

A door slammed shut further down the hallway.

"Was that Daddy's door?" Catherine whispered.

"Probably. And you know he doesn't like to be bothered once he's gone to bed."

Catherine stopped struggling and let out a groan, walking back to flop down on the bed.

"Well, looks like you have plenty of time to tell me why Tommy was here," Elizabeth said, still blocking the door in case of an escape attempt.

"Did he look happy?" Catherine asked.

"Who, Tommy? No, he looked distracted."

"Oh dear. That could be a bad sign." Catherine sat up, squeezing the edge of her nightgown.

"A bad sign of what?"

Catherine opened her mouth, preparing another excuse, but shook her head. "Never mind."

Her older sister frowned, inhaling deeply before blurting, "Katie, if you don't tell me what's going on I won't tell you my secret!"

"You don't have a secret," Catherine snorted, rolling her eyes.

"Oh yes I do. And it's big and juicy. Even Tommy knows about it."

"No he doesn't."

"Yes he does," Elizabeth retorted. "George can't keep his mouth shut so now the prince knows and you don't so ha!"

Catherine's eyes widened in realization. "Did you say George? _That's_ what Tommy was laughing about?"

"Laughing? Why was he laughing?" Elizabeth asked, hand pressed protectively to her abdomen.

She shook her head, murmuring, "George told him something when he came to drop a box off at the house and Tommy was laughing about it and wouldn't tell me anything. What was it?"

"What happened at the palace today?" Elizabeth countered.

"Lizzie—"

"No, Katie. I refuse to tell you unless you promise to tell me your story."

"It can't be that important."

"Oh, it's life-changingly important," Elizabeth replied.

Catherine shrugged. "I'll just ask George."

"George's not allowed to tell anyone."

Both sisters glared at each other, daring the other to break eye contact and admit defeat. Eventually, Catherine glanced away. "Fine."

"Yes!"

"But you tell me your secret first."

"Fair enough. But first—" Elizabeth turned around and wrenched open the door. Frieta, out in the hall, was startled so much she nearly dropped her candle.

"Frieta, what are you doing?" Elizabeth asked accusatorily.

"I'm going to the john! Pippin tot, what did you think I was doing?"

"Listening at the door."

Frieta tilted her chin. "Why? You talking about anything interesting?"

"No." Elizabeth shut the door.

Catherine's face bore an expression of disapproval. "Lizzie, that was really—"

Elizabeth opened the door again, and this time Frieta jumped back, looking guilty. "Aha!"

Frieta crossed her arms in defiance. "Well of course I'm going to be listening now! What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing. Now go to bed."

"I'm not listening to you, Liz—"

"Frieta, please," Catherine said, leaning over to see her younger sister.

Her sister huffed. "Okay. But only because _you_ asked, Katie. If it had been bossy britches over here I'd just say rub a monkey's tummy."

Elizabeth shut the door again, checked a third time to make sure Frieta was gone, and finally came to bed. She was beaming as she took one of Catherine's hands in her own.

"Okay, Katie, what I'm going to tell you is very important. Quite possibly the most important—"

"Get on with it, Lizzie."

"You have no sense of drama, do you?"

"Drama? Please, what on earth could be so important that you—" she suddenly noticed the way her sister was sitting, how she was holding herself. "Wait, you're not—"

"Yes."

Catherine shook her head. "But it's only been—"

Elizabeth smirked. "It's been long enough, trust me."

"Really? You're—"

"Yes!"

"Oh Lizzie!" Catherine hugged her sister tightly, laughing with excitement. She could not believe it! Her sister—her best friend in the world—was going to be a mother!

"I know! I know! My word you should've seen George when I told him. I thought I had given the poor man a heart attack," Elizabeth said, giggling as they drew apart.

"But he's happy?" Catherine asked, beaming.

"You know George—he's so happy he's about to burst. Told me he loved me about twelve times while I sobbed into his shirt. He's going to be a marvelous father."

"And you're going to be a fantastic mother. Oh dear Lizzie, I'm so happy for you!" Catherine squeezed her sister's hands.

"Me too—I can hardly believe it. I feel so young but—it doesn't matter." Elizabeth smiled. "This is it and I love him, or her, already. So much."

"Of course you do. You'll be brilliant."

"I hope so. I certainly am going to try to be because this baby—my word, I'm having a baby—this baby is mine and George's and is the most amazing baby ever!"

"When are you due?" Catherine asked.

Her sister bit her lip. "We're not entirely sure. We've had a lot of um—good nights and, to be honest, _amazing_ mornings and—"

Catherine sighed. "Lizzie."

"Well it's hard to tell when you're in love!" Elizabeth grinned. "The family physician said I'm only about two months along which means I've got seven more left to go."

"So, you'll be delivering in early summer?"

She nodded. "I suppose. My goodness, I don't have near enough time to prepare."

"You will be fine," Catherine said soothingly. "I'll help and so will Mother."

"Want to come stay in Dean for a few weeks? I hear the city is lovely and the new duchess could use some help with renovations on the manor nursery."

"Maybe when the day is closer and you're as big as a balloon," Catherine replied, laughing again.

"Oh don't tease me, Katie. You know I hate the idea of losing my figure."

"You'll be as beautiful as always, and I'm sure if you forget George will remind you."

Elizabeth smiled. "He would. He's perfect that way. And he's already told his family. I wanted to tell all of you in person and I was going to wait until breakfast but I just couldn't stand it anymore."

"I'm glad you told me. Oh, I'm so happy for you Lizzie," Catherine said, hugging Elizabeth again. "So very happy."

"Thank you. Okay, so now that you know my big secret," Elizabeth drew away to stare straight into her sister's face, "what's yours?"

Catherine lifted her shoulders. "It's nothing. It's not nearly as fun as yours."

"I beg to differ. I'd love to hear gossip about the palace, the prince, and my baby sister."

"I'm only a year younger than you."

"Still a baby. Now go on, Katie, you never break your promises so go ahead and tell me." Elizabeth gathered her knees up to her chin, smiling at her sister over top of them.

Catherine closed her eyes, knowing full well her sister was right. She had to tell her, especially if she wanted to get any sleep tonight.

She cleared her throat. "Well, I suppose it really started a few weeks ago. I've written to you about this already but Tommy and I—we've been friendly."

"Friendly how?"

"He's brought me roses a few times and we—you know—were a bit flirty or whatever," Catherine said.

Elizabeth smirked. "I didn't know you knew how to flirt."

"I know perfectly well how to flirt, thank you very much!"

"Okay, whatever—so you've both been friendly and dancing around the idea of being something more than friends. I know this already, Katie, I'm your sister. What I want to know is what is happening _now_? Why did you go to the palace today and why did you come home looking as though you've made off with the royal treasury?"

Catherine frowned. "I don't look like that."

"You look guilty," her sister pointed out.

"I'm not guilty."

"If you say so—now go on. What were you doing there?"

Starting to regret her promise, Catherine answered, "Tommy asked me if I wanted to come look at the gardens, so I said yes. It was the last time the roses were blooming this year and they were supposed to be really pretty."

"Were they pretty?"

"I don't know—I was a bit distracted—and stop interrupting. Anyway, I went up there and arrived late. He came out and I sort of—I just froze. I was scared about being left alone with him so I—I made his cousin come with us." She winced at the memory.

Her sister sat up straighter. "His cousin? That funny man with the long nose?"

"Yes, that's Freddy. Dear fellow got himself dragged along just because I was nervous."

Elizabeth groaned. "Please tell me you didn't take him to the gardens too?"

Catherine sighed, admitting, "I'm afraid I did. I grabbed onto his arm and pulled him along, mumbling about flowers and everything under the sun. I wouldn't even let him leave when he asked if he could."

"And what did Tommy do this entire time?"

"He followed us, and tried to talk to me once or twice but I couldn't stand it. I knew what he was going to say—all sorts of wonderful but awkward things—but I just kept thinking what if I ruin it? What if I don't say anything? So I just went ahead and ruined it anyway by ignoring him."

"Oh Katie." Elizabeth looked at her sympathetically. "Did he get angry?"

Catherine nodded, rubbing her arms. "He was quite unhappy. We actually got into a bit of an argument."

Elizabeth gasped. "You didn't!"

"Yes, we did. It was stupid, over silly stuff like him skipping out on this meeting he had and me not wanting to talk to him all day. We just kept yelling at each other, accusing one another of all sorts of rubbish. We probably would've kept it up for hours if Freddy hadn't seen the reverend and the housekeeper coming up the path."

"Why should they matter?" her sister asked, confused.

"The housekeeper would've hauled Tommy and Freddy out by the ears for skipping the meeting. Apparently she's had it out for them ever since they were young. Tommy said she makes him wash windows."

"Is that what happened? Did the housekeeper come and grab him by the ear?"

"No. Freddy managed to get our attention long enough to get us moving again. We actually did get as far as the roses, but it was a dead end. Then Freddy jumped into one of the bushes to hide. I thought that was a good idea so I tried to get Tommy to get into another bush. He wouldn't go, so I, um, I kind of pushed him into it," Catherine finished, feeling her face get hot.

"You pushed the man?"

"Tackle was more like it. He's much bigger than I am so I had to make him lose his balance before he'd fall."

Elizabeth turned her head, thinking. "How did you land?"

Her sister rolled her eyes. "What do you mean, 'how did we land'? I shoved him into a bush, how do you think we landed?"

"Sounds like it was a _compromising_ position," she remarked, smiling. Then her eyes widened, and she asked quickly, "You didn't knee him did you?"

"No! At least, I hope not. Oh dear, what if I did?"

Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. "He'll recover. Anyway, what happened next? Is that when the housekeeper found you?"

"No—no I just told Tommy to keep quiet because he was still talking. It was a moment before the housekeeper and reverend came over. And then—" she hesitated.

"And then what? And then what?"

"And then he started brushing my hair back from my face."

Elizabeth let out a soft 'oh'.

Catherine smiled, shaking her head. "I was going to ask what he was doing but I saw that he was looking at me. He had a very direct gaze and his eyes are so, so blue. Did you know how blue they are? They're like the ocean on a perfect day. Startling blue—calm but, at the same time, bold. I think—I think he knew exactly what he was doing…" she trailed off, contemplating the prince's gaze.

"And what was he doing?"

"Hmm?"

"What was he doing, Katie?" Elizabeth repeated, the barest hint of irritation in her voice.

"He—he said I was beautiful."

Elizabeth tossed her head. "Well, we all know that. Gorgeous family relations and all."

"No, this was different. He didn't just mean my face he meant—he meant so much more than that." She leaned back against the bedpost, staring up at the ceiling.

"Is that all that happened?" Elizabeth asked.

"What?" Catherine looked at her, shaking her head. "No—no—after he said that we, um—he kissed me."

"Oh, Katie! I knew it!" Elizabeth fell back onto the bed, laughing.

"If you knew it then why did you make me tell you?" she asked, unable to keep the grin spreading across her face.

"I wanted the story. My word—my goodness—did you really kiss Tommy?"

"Yes, I did. I just told you that."

"Was he any good?" Elizabeth asked, her grin widening.

"I don't know. I've never been kissed before—and anyway," Catherine pulled her hair back anxiously, murmuring, "Now that I think about it—a rosebush of all places? You don't go about kissing princes in rosebushes. You kiss princes in towers and on horses and adrift across a sun-lit sea—not in the palace shrubbery! What on earth does the poor man think?"

Elizabeth snorted. "I don't see why you're so worried about it. It was just one kiss, right?"

"Well, yes," Catherine replied, a bit of reservation in her voice.

"What's the matter?"

Catherine shrugged uneasily, muttering, "Really, it might have been several."

"_Several_?" Elizabeth sat up in bed, staring at her sister.

She nodded. "We sort-of—we might've got carried away a bit. I mean, after all, it was almost half a minute before Freddy found us and really I think we can be forgiven a little enthusiasm. We _have_ known each other for months now. It's not like we were complete strangers."

Her sister shook her head, whispering, "I don't believe it. I do not believe it. You were actually _snogging_ him."

"I was _not_!" Catherine protested.

"Yes you were. That's exactly what it sounds like you were doing. You snogged him, good and hard," Elizabeth replied confidently.

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

She narrowed her eyes. "Lizzie, I'm telling you, I didn't."

"And I'm telling you, Katie dear, that you snogged his face off. You probably kissed him over and over and over again, running your fingers through that thick, coffee-colored hair."

"What, were you hiding in that rose bush?" Catherine asked, half-exasperated, half-amused.

"Aha!" Elizabeth crowed. "You did snog him! Ha!"

"Well, if I did—and I most definitely did _not_—he started it," Catherine said defensively.

"And apparently you liked it enough to continue." Elizabeth grinned, her face alight with mischief.

"I never said that."

She rolled her eyes. "_Please_. No eligible girl in her right mind would kiss the prince and not want to do it again."

"KATIE SNOGGED THE PRINCE?"

* * *

Lord Brian, who was sitting in bed, looked up from his newspaper. He glanced over to his wife, remarking, "So that's what happened?"

"Apparently." Lady Marie continued editing her husband's inventory reports.

The floor started shaking as doors burst open and many pairs of feet pounded down the hallway, accompanied by impatient voices demanding to know what had happened.

"We're not going to get any sleep tonight, are we?" Lord Brian asked.

His wife frowned, crossing out a number. "What makes you say that?"

"Judging from the herd of girls now crammed into Katie's room, there will be an inordinate amount of giggling tonight." He cocked his head and sighed. "Oh, it's started already."

Lady Marie simply smiled at him. "It's a good thing you like little girls."

He shook his head, folding his newspaper. "I _love_ little girls. I just don't love hearing waves of giggles into the wee hours of the morning."

"You can tell them to go to bed."

"No, I'll let them have their fun. I'm only dreading what will happen when they find out he's going to marry her."

"What?" Lady Marie blotted a number, looking quickly at her husband.

"Thomas came over tonight to ask me permission to court Katie."

"And somehow it turned to marriage?"

He pursed his lips. "Well—that won't be for a long time, I suspect. But I had him promise that he would court Katie only on the condition that he'd marry her at the end of it."

His wife made a face. "Oh Brian, that's old fashioned. Courtships fall out all the time."

Lord Brian nodded. "Yes, I know they do. I was first-hand witness to yours falling out, if you remember. Why else do you think I did it?"

She set aside the reports, folding her arms. "Well I'm sorry, but I fell in love with a short diary farmer, so it wasn't my fault. And anyway, it's not like Thomas and Katie are betrothed so why did you tell him that?"

"I wanted him to admit that he loved her. No man's going to court my daughter until he admits that."

"And did he?"

Lord Brian smiled. "Yes, he did."

"So you mean that our daughter, our Katie—"

"Has successfully done what no other girl could and captured the love and affection of the crown prince of Corona. And don't pretend you don't know. You and your friend the queen have been planning this for a while with all your letters."

His wife smiled unashamedly. "We merely said it would be a nice result. They were the ones who found each other at the matchmaking—Caroline and I had nothing to do with it."

"Naturally not."

"We'd never interfere. And anyway, it looks like they worked it out on their own."

Lord Brian removed his glasses, lying back on his pillows. "Yes, and my guess is they're going to thoroughly enjoy the courting experience."

"And then what?"

"Then I'll have to pay for a very expensive wedding."

* * *

In Catherine's bedroom, there was a lot of noise. Frieta had taken the vanity chair, while Emma and Mary sat on Elizabeth's traveling case. Georgiana, Allison and Eleanor were grouped on the carpet, and Catherine and Elizabeth were still on the bed. Jane had just entered the room when Elizabeth started talking loudly over everyone else.

"Okay, all of you get back to bed!"

Frieta wrapped her arms about the back of her chair. "No way! You two have been having all sorts of fun in here—I want to join in! I'm just as mature as you and I deserve to know what's been going on!"

Mary nodded firmly. "Me too—and so does Emma. We all deserve it."

Elizabeth glared down at them. "You don't deserve anything! This was a private conversation between Katie and me and none of you—"  
"What's _snogging_ mean?" Georgiana asked for the fifth time.

"Oh, for goodness sake—it means to kiss passionately," Frieta snapped.

"But what does passionately mean?" Georgiana asked.

"You know how much you like chocolate?"

Georgiana nodded.

"Katie kissed Tommy like he was a massive chunk of chocolate."

"_Katie_!" the twins exclaimed, turning towards Catherine.

"Thank you, Frieta," Catherine said, hand over her eyes.

"What was it like, Katie?" Emma asked excitedly. "Did he sweep you in his arms over the ballroom floor?"

Frieta shook her head. "They were in the gardens—I overheard everything—and what's this about the prince's cousin?"

"Forget the cousin—I want to know what happened with Tommy!" Mary said.

"No! All of you, out now!" Elizabeth barked, getting up to move her sisters towards the door.

"I'm not leaving!"

"But I want to know what happened!"

"Us too! Katie's our sister—"

"And Tommy's my friend—"

"Yeah, did he actually start it or did he—Lizzie, I'm not going!"

"Yes you are, all of you are getting—"

"Did you, Katie?" Jane asked suddenly, her voice cutting over the complaining. Everybody quieted at once, turning to look at Catherine as Jane asked, "Did you kiss him?"

Catherine glanced around at the eight pairs of green eyes, finally settling on Jane's face. She sighed, smiling. "Yes, Jane, I did."

There was a rush of squeals, giggles, and cheers. And then came the questions.

"Was he any good?" Frieta asked.

"What was it like, Katie?" Emma asked.

"What did he say? Did he say anything?" Mary demanded.

"What's going to happen next?" Elizabeth asked.

Catherine shot her older sister a look, and she shrugged, joining her on the bed.

"What? It's not like you got the chance to finish the story before Miss Gigantic Gob over there interrupted."

"Well, if you weren't being so secretive—" Frieta started, but Catherine held out her hands.

"Stop—both of you. I will answer three questions and three questions only."

"That's not fair!"

Catherine replied, "It's perfectly fair. I don't have to answer any if I don't want to."

Elizabeth glanced at her before nodding, folding her arms. "Exactly, so you lot decide which questions you want to ask and then go to bed."

All seven girls huddled together, muttering and hissing at each other. Catherine met Elizabeth's apologetic smile, and shrugged.

"They were bound to find out about it anyway."

"All the same, now you'll never get any peace."

"I'll manage. Okay, have you ladies decided yet?"

Frieta waved her hand and continued muttering.

"I suppose that means no," Catherine said, yawning. If Thomas knew what was going on now he'd probably never come over to her house again. But the real question was—what had happened when he had come over tonight? What had her father said?

"Katie, we're ready," Mary called, breaking off Catherine's thoughts.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Have it out then."

Frieta asked, "Was he any good?"

"Yes."

"Even with the beard?" Mary asked.

"Ew, I forgot about that. What was it like?" Elizabeth asked, curious and turned off at the same time.

Catherine smirked. "It tickled."

"Ewww!" A chorus of giggling followed, with Georgiana saying she quite liked the prince's whiskers.

Catherine laughed. "And I liked it a lot. Added to the experience, I'd say."

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. "Gross. All right, next question."

"Did he say anything?" Mary asked.

Catherine's older sister cast a sideways glance over. "Yeah, did he say anything?"

"He told me I was beautiful."

"Ooohhh." All sisters sighed, hands pressed over their hearts.

Catherine smiled. "And he was very sweet."

"Awww!"

"Next question—and Frieta, you've already asked yours—"

"This doesn't count, but what happened with his cousin?" Frieta asked hastily.

Elizabeth frowned. "Why do you want to know—"

"That's actually a little funny," Catherine said, laughing slightly. "Although, I do feel bad. Freddy interrupted us and I threw my shoes at him. Poor man was never supposed to be there in the first place."

Frieta's jaw dropped. "He interrupted—"

Elizabeth cut her off. "Okay, next question—_and_ the last one. Ally, go ahead."

The little girl played with one of her braids, asking quietly, "We just—we want to know what's going to happen now."

"I wish I knew," Catherine said.

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "Yes, all we know is that Tommy came over tonight to talk to Daddy and until tomorrow morning we won't know what happened."

"Oh, I can answer that question."

Lord Brian was standing in the doorway, his pink sleeping cap askew and glasses missing. He looked very tired, if not a bit amused.

Georgiana jumped up and ran over to him, beaming. "Daddy, Tommy kissed Katie!"

"Did he really?" Lord Brian asked, peering over at his second eldest.

A slow blush rose in Catherine's cheeks.

Lord Brian chuckled, turning back to Georgiana. "Well, I heard it was the other way around. But what does it matter? Soon they'll be doing it so much they will have forgotten who started it."

"Daddy, what happened tonight? What did Tommy say?" Frieta asked.

Her father adjusted his cap. "That is for Katie's ears only. The rest of you get to bed."

"But—"

"Now. And no talking—we have church tomorrow and we have to look like we want to be there. Bed, now."

"Yes sir," Emma said, standing up with Mary. All the girls began to walk out of the room.

"Goodnight Daddy."

"Goodnight, Daddy, we love you."

"Daddy, can I have a glass of water?"

Lord Brian looked up. "Lizzie, can you—"

"Yes sir. Come along, you lot. You too Frieta."

"Why'd you single me out?"

"Hmm, I wonder."

It wasn't until all her sisters had left did Catherine look up to see her father watching her. The pink had left her face by now, but apprehension was in her heart. "Daddy?"

"Come here, Katie."

She obeyed, nervous despite her father's warm smile.

"I had a visitor tonight—the prince, in fact. He wanted to ask me a question."

She gazed at him, hardly breathing.

"He asked me if he could court you, Katie." Her father smiled at her. "Naturally, I said yes."

"You said 'yes'?" she said, relief flooding through her.

"Granted, this was before I or the rest of the neighborhood found out about any 'snogging' incident. Your sister's voice carries."

Catherine grinned as her father shrugged, continuing, "But in all honesty, he made a very good argument. He cares for you, and you—well—I suppose care for him in turn. From a father's perspective, Thomas gave me every reason to say yes, and absolutely zero reasons to say no. He's a good man and he'll suit you well."

"So now—"

"Of course, you'll have to make the ultimate choice on the matter. Though if you don't mind my saying, Katie dear, I think you like him far too much to say no."

Catherine's smile widened, and her father nodded.

"Thought so. Anyway, he'll be coming over tomorrow so you'd better prepare yourself for being stared at by several pairs of green eyes."

"Poor Tommy."

"He'll be fine. And look, your sister's coming back."

"No, you've had three glasses of water. I'm not getting you another, so go to bed!" Elizabeth came into the room, shaking her head. "I tell you what, Daddy, if I have to deal with those girls one more—"

"Think of it as practice for your own children," Lord Brian said dryly.

"I know, and George said—wait a minute—did you tell him, Katie?" Elizabeth asked, realization dawning.

Catherine shook her head, and their father explained, "Your mother told me."

"Mother—of course she'd know. She always knows."

"You should know better than to think you can keep things from her. But, Lizzie, we are very happy and excited to meet our first grandchild. So, in an effort to keep you healthy, I'd suggest you both go to sleep." Lord Brian went over and kissed Elizabeth on the forehead, and then did the same for her sister. "Goodnight, Katie. Don't let Lizzie keep you up."

Lord Brian left, closing the door behind him. Elizabeth paused, looking in the vanity mirror. Her sister got in bed.

"Do you think I'm showing already, Katie? Is that how Mother found out?"

Catherine grinned, watching her sister rubbing her belly. "When you stick your stomach out like that anybody would think you're pregnant. Now come to bed."

"It'll be hard to sleep tonight. Everything's so exciting. I bet Frieta's talking up a storm now," Elizabeth said conversationally, sliding under the covers.

"Go to sleep, Lizzie."

"Fine, have it your way."

There was quiet, broken only by giggles from next door. Then they heard the unmistakable sound of their father clearing his throat and the giggles stopped at once.

"Lizzie," Catherine whispered.

"Mmm?"

"If you have a boy what will you call him?"

"Chester."

Catherine turned toward her in the darkness. "Is there someone in George's family named Chester?"

"No, I just like the name," Elizabeth replied.

"What about if it's a girl?"

"Catherine."

"Yes?"

"No, that's what I'd call her. Catherine of Dean, Kate for short, so we don't mix you two up too much."

Catherine took her sister's hand, squeezing it. "You'd really do that?"

"Well it's not like I'm going to name her after anybody else. Besides, hopefully this way she'll be a good girl like you and not a naughty one like me."

She grinned. "Maybe. I'm happy for you."

"And I am happy for you. And just so you know, half the girls in the country are crying themselves to sleep because you've just won the prized bachelor. Bask in the glory, Katie. You'll only get this chance once."

"I'd rather bask in my pillows. I'm exhausted."

"I'll bask for you then. Goodnight."

Grinning, Catherine thought over what had occurred that day. It had turned out a lot better than she had expected. Despite all her best efforts to prevent its success by dragging the prince's cousin along and arguing over skipped meetings, the day had been fantastic. And now, with Thomas courting her, she could only imagine what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

_By the way, the song Thomas sings is "A Red, Red Rose", as sung by Andy M. Stewart of Silly Wizard. Check it out guys, it's nice! :D_


End file.
